


And We Will Call It This Land

by konoyo, Microsaur



Category: Firefly, Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefly Verse, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Past childhood sexual abuse, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, mentions of death/suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 346,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konoyo/pseuds/konoyo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Microsaur/pseuds/Microsaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That awkward moment when your boredom almost gets you thrown in jail, then laid, then shot, then laid again but really only strands you on an abandoned planet with no one but a handsome yet pissy detective to rely on. Still, it could be worse. </p><p>Right?</p><p>Or the one where the world betrays Arthur and Eames does, too, but only by falling in love.</p><p>09/05 - Finally beginning to go through this, chapter by chapter and shortening it to make it more readable. Done so far: Ch6</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been more than a year in the works so I feel legitimized in posting the first chapter right this second even though it's not actually beta'd, ehe. If there are any volunteers to proofread the rest....
> 
> All characters and universes belong to their respective owners, all this is done only for fun.

It wasn't often that Eames bothered to visit any of the Core planets. Everything was too clean, too blue, smelled of antiseptic, and rose to the heavens in such impenetrable icicles that it was a wonder anyone even lived there, high above the clouds. The bases of the buildings were filled with offices and shops that no one was ever inside of and screens upon screens of colorfully obnoxious moving ads. And while the content was no different than elsewhere within the ‘Verse, here in Ariel City it seemed especially lifeless and just too gorramn _clean_.

At least bounty was plentiful if you knew how to get it - which was partly what brought him to Ariel in the first place. The reason he was to stay here for at least another day or so was... Well, the authorities were going to be looking for a good half ton of medicine that had gone missing the other day and he wasn't about to give them a reason to suspect his ship. A one man operation did have its limitations after all. But sitting around in this horrible place didn't have to be boring. Even now he was on his way to tempt his fate.

Walking through the streets was a bit like taking a bath in detergent. The prim populace, in their solid colored silks and stiff cottons, barely gave him more than a cursory glance which suited him just fine. Even if he was wearing a drab and obviously brown coat over a cheerily patterned shirt tucked into even less refined pants and dirty boots, all he needed to do was walk as if he had a stick up his ass reaching all the way up to touch Shiva, currently waxing in the sky, and he blended in seamlessly. It was almost pathetic.

Readjusting his toothpick, he walked through the automatic doors of Central Security, as was helpfully written on the sides and entrance of the building. It was as clean and shiny as the rest of the city outside, white lights and grey desks behind glass doors with metal knobs. How unfortunate. At least there was some semblance of a breeze outside, this was like death itself, with grey backed officers running to and fro as if they would succumb to the ghastly interior otherwise. How could people stand this? No matter, he wasn't here for a potential flat rental. Let's see, the brains of the operations shouldn't be wearing a uniform... Ah, there.

"Good evening, luv, is this the right place to go to report a robbery, then?" he asked, leaning proprietorially on the glass half wall dividing them and putting on as much of a Border character as he could muster.

All the slick brunet gave him for his efforts was a judgmental look over.

"I suggest you check with service desk at your hotel first, but if your personal items are still missing there's a kiosk just outside to file a report. There's also one on every corner, and inside most establishments," the man told him, channeling so much robot he might just have started to melt into the scenery. A pity, too, he wasn't bad looking at all. Eames tilted his head, checking for cables below the carefully trimmed hairline. There were none, but that didn't make much of a difference. He sighed and folded both his arms on top of the glass as if he was going to bare his heart. It was time to see if he could break through the wall of indifferent condescension and actually get a rise from this one.

"You know, it's such a pain when things just disappear. Like they suddenly grow legs and hands and take your spare key to walk out two damn locked doors, down the hall with multiple cameras and out into the cargo bay and hail themselves a taxi-" This was, in fact, the precinct closest to the hospital from which he'd pulled his loot and what he was describing was indeed what he'd gotten away with so far. The detective stilled, which meant he'd realized that as well. "There's a kiosk just outside, you say?"

He turned to go, feigning a searching glance for the aforementioned kiosk.

"I've just received notification the server is down; however I do have time to take your statement if you'll follow me." Eames smiled to himself, pausing halfway through his turn. "I'll remind you, if you have any information in regards to a crime, noncompliance in this situation can and will lead to charges of obstruction… Mr. Karlson."

Ah, finally, a bit of fun. If only cops everywhere were so resourceful, must have ran a face trace within the ten seconds he realized that something was amiss and didn't just sit there, flabbergasted. Well, Eames would have been caught already if that was the case. He could have been a bit more creative than just "system down", though.

Eames turned around, beaming. "Oh, perfect, I do prefer to talk to a real live person, what will I ever get out of a kiosk? And, of course, who would ever want to obstruct justice, hmm? Although I am afraid you're right, it was terrible rude of me not to introduce myself. Karlson is me, yep, Barnaby Karlson, but you can just call me Barnes." Adding a little oscillation and a slouch to his step, reminiscent of either a sailor who just stepped off a ship or the same sailor who was drunk off his 'nads, he walked back the two steps he'd taken to hold out his hand. "And yourself?"

"Arthur Hale," the officer informed him after a polite handshake, gathering up his things and then beckoning him through a pair of sliding glass, of course, doors into the back. He followed the officer down the hallway, making sure to look perfectly amazed at the admittedly blank walls and ceiling. Arthur Hale, he would have to remember that. This was far more exciting than your routine grab-and-go. He even had the stomach flutters, that was new. Might be the lack of escape routes.

The room - down the hall and to the right - that he was lead to was unsurprisingly bleak: just a table and chairs for the both of them. "Firstly, I'd like to thank you for doing your part, and to ask a few questions. Standard procedure, Mr. Karlson, nothing to worry about. According to this you landed here four days ago, headed from Whitefall, and this is just a short getaway before you return to work. Is that correct?" Hale asked, transparent enough for Eames to tell he was readying himself to jump at any detail that seemed wrong.

"Yeah, that's right. 'Nfortunately seven days in as many years was all I could take. Boss' an 愛吃自己的糞狗 what can I say? And what's the point in takin' one day a year, you can't even get nowhere within a day." Eames made sure to prattle on, supporting his chin with his hands, elbows on the table. "And I figure Ariel's a bright ol' place to be, you know, center and everythin'." Haha, right. He'd seen border planets more exciting than this world.

"Must be hard work - what is it you do, exactly? It seems someone didn't catch your occupation when you checked in."

At least he was clearly getting on Hale's nerve. The officer had already unnecessarily straightened his close cut suit once since they sat down and Eames could see him doing it again if he kept up this cover. He idly wondered if a smile would actually break the poor sod or if it would just look forced and creepy. "Oh, you know, oversee minin' and all that. Terribly dusty business, that." He prattled on. And the way he kept looking at Eames' coat... Sure the Alliance was rather allergic to brown but this guy? It was funny, the way he tried and failed not to show his aversion. The whole thing was funny, in fact. If Eames got his age right there was no way Hale could have seen anything but the tail ends of the Unification War. He looked fresh out of school, not like a war hardened Purple Belly.

"I'll be sure to add that in," Hale said, beginning to type something anew in his notepad. "Now, I'd like to know what you saw at the hospital and any relevant details you'd like to add. Please speak clearly, and plainly for the sake of accuracy."

Eames readjusted his toothpick, the wooden point bobbing from one side of his mouth to the other, laughing inwardly. Looked like officer Hale assumed he was actually willing to share info. Well, why not. He would have to work for it though, and the character Eames was currently inhabiting would make that extra unpleasant by his sheer obtuseness.

He talked at length about the building - his character was obviously fascinated by the size and cleanliness and prattled on some more about mining and the benefits the workers at the hospital got then settled into silence, mostly watching Hale pretend to write all that down. Not that there was much to write down: all he did was put himself in the what Hale would probably call crime scene as someone who saw something but understood nothing.

"Before you proceed, I'd like to know why you were at the hospital, and at what time. Please be concise and mention only relevant details. It makes my job easier, I'm sure you understand," Hale informed him, still sounding disinterested but attentive. At least the questions were getting more on point. Hale deserved a treat for his efforts. It looked like it was time to do what he came here to do in the first place.

"Weeell, you know how it is, turned into the wrong place lookin' for some monumentristical thing, I can't even recall what it was now. It's hard to see those signs up in front without my glasses that done broke in my pocket, everthin's blurry," he lied smoothly, waving his hands in front of him like he was trying to dispel smoke. "Had to ask around on the street if this was the right place to turn in to, since I clearly got that one wrong. And I did find this one the ground, so I was askin' around if anyone had lost theirs." He made a show of digging in his pockets and fishing out a blank card, similar to the ones worn in the hospital, rubbing his sleeve on it and putting it up to the light as if it was his supposed glasses. Once his character made sure it was clean, he put it on the table. "No one knew nothin' about it."

It was actually the card he'd used to hack into the locked doors, but tampered with to the point where it wasn't useable anymore. A long scratch ran along its surface, disrupting all of the sensors. He figured he didn't need it anymore and others would be after the nifty little thing, so why not just hand it over to the police?

"Thank you," Hale said, clearly measuring his speech and trying not to breath heavily over the card. Got him in one. "Now, you saw someone moving supplies through metal doors? And you're certain it began with an 'F' sound?"

"Yeah, some bloke, wait, you think that's the guy?" Eames rubbed his chin, as if trying to recall it. "And, you mean the worker I was talking to? Yeah, pretty sure. Could have also been Pedro though, I know it started with something like that you know, one long vertical line and two on top. He showed me his card I remember, and he had the longest last name... He did say he had a family up on Shiva. Said his wife has a friend who's mother was sick who's doctor knew a doctor knew a doctor who could help me out with the glasses, man am I paying for that stare at the sun dare, and do you know how expensive surgeries are? Fortunately I have all the meters on my dashboard to tell me how far away or close something is or how'd I manage to even get myself here? Oh-" his eyes widened suddenly, as if in realization, "-you aren't going to put me down for that, are you, officer, I hadn't the time to update my license or anything and I know you're looking at the dock logs." His Karlson license would be without indication that he should be wearing glasses and he had just admitted to flying without them.

He pressed his palms together as if in prayer. "I brought you the white card, didn't I, I really don't have the sort of resources or time to fly back here again to go to court over such a small thing!"

Hale only sucked in a breath, in an attempt to stay calm. Eames could see the muscles in the officer's face working, as if he was trying not to clench his teeth too hard, and allowed himself a bright, satisfied smile. Hale realized he was being toyed with. This trip had not been a mistake if just for the look on Hale's face. "In light of this information I can let it slide, but I will be checking within the next two weeks that your license reflects your current visual difficulties," he relented. "We'll be sure to look into this, as an inside job does seem likely. It would be close to impossible for anyone else, wouldn't it? You noticed several security measures within just a few minutes..." Hale hummed in probably feigned thought. "If there's nothing else, you're free to go."

This one wouldn't lay off him, not until he caught him doing something even vaguely illegal. And good luck with that. This was going to be fun. Two weeks? It would be near impossible to take off without the police hounding his tail in the next week, then. He'd leave tomorrow as planned. Always did like a challenge.

"I hope you find your man, officer," Eames said and stood, flexing his spine with a crack. "And I'll make sure everythin' is squeaky clean before I even think to break atmo, you can count on that." Eames left his chair pulled back and turned to leave, feigning confusion as he took two seconds to locate the only door. He was then, still politely and stiffly, escorted out by the doubtlessly still fuming officer.

Oh, that was the most fun he'd had in days.

There wasn't much left to do that would compare, so Eames wandered. The city was big and rather complex, most of the major junctions linked through freeways or train lines that he couldn't walk across. There wasn't a whole lot of note, but his luck was with him as he found an underground gambling den, tucked away under an unassuming office building. It wasted a good load of time and made him a couple hundred credits richer, which, while not much in comparison to the trade in value of the meds, was still immensely satisfying. Eames patted his pocket and whistled as he headed out past the bodyguards, not missing the chance to throw them a cocky smile and a mock salute. It was late now, the Ariel day dimming to darkness and the streets were lit bright. It was just a pity you couldn't see the stars.

Still, he decided, he didn't pass the day too horribly on the unfortunate planet. Maybe he should round it off with some dinner and some gossip. There was a place somewhere around here, ah, yes, that uppity French place. The maitre d' usually had good intel. Of course, he'd have to make a couple of little adjustments because god forbid he ever walked in there with his shirt untucked, the 'Verse would just stop turning.

Eames sighed heavily and walked into one of the public restrooms, hoping to use the mirror.

He didn't look much different when he was walked in, but the man had long ago stopped objecting to his tastes in patterns. There was a bit of a bar in the back and that's where he took his seat, tucking his feet into the railings of the stool. Maybe after this he wouldn't even be coming back to the planet anymore, if that fed dug deep enough. He figured he should at least say good bye.

It was too late when the barkeep pointed out that a patron was staring and Eames realized he'd just thought of the devil. The same fed was currently tucked in a booth right near by. Well, what do you know. He must have arrived a little after Eames had himself.

He gave Hale a cheeky wave over his shoulder. It would only figure the man's tastes ran to this kind of place, with the way he dressed. All he got was a tight smile back and that was all he was expecting, really. That was, until Hale decided to invade his solitude to comment snidely on the drink the barkeep had poured Eames.

"That looks good," he said pointedly, somewhere between accusation and observation, "can't say I've seen it on the menu." For emphasis, he plucked one of them from the stand and began flipping through it with what had to be exaggerated casualness.

The fact that Hale approached him managed to take Eames by surprise. He couldn't have come off any less than intolerable so this one's dedication to liberty must be the stuff of legend. He considered slipping back into his cover identity. Probably unwise, he decided, because Karlson would likely make a scene, and there were some, well, a lot of people who would think twice about dealing with someone who was seen being chummy with a fed.

"Well, hello to you, too, luv," he countered, with far less Rim flavor than Hale would be expecting from just earlier in the day. "You don't approve of people asking for custom drinks?" He shrugged, taking a drink and leaving it at that. Hale had probably noticed that the barkeep had served it without an actual order, the freakishly observant bastard, but he didn't feel like pressing the matter.

All he got was a start of a wry smile and Hale leaned in closer, "I don't supposed you'd make this easier and give me a real name and your role in the theft?" Now that was kind of sexy. Hale was far more expressive when he wasn't pretending to be a robot. Not that attractiveness was going to earn him any information. Eames raised his eyebrows and leaned conspiratorially forward.

"Well..." he drawled, "I can tell you that..."

A pause for added drama. Hale couldn't help but lean in a bit.

"I actually do have perfect eyesight." Eames drew back, grinning. "Nah, I'll pass on it. We could play twenty questions all night and day, if you'd like. I'll still be leaving early Friday morning." Eames took another drink of his concoction. "Of course, you'll probably come up with some reason to come see me off anyway, won't you?" He would let their current situation slide as happenstance. Even he had no idea he was going to be here tonight, after all, and it was no place his assumed identity would have even stepped foot in.

Hale grimaced, clearly frustrated. "Unfortunately, your ship failed certain maintenance checks. There's a hold on it until an official can inspect it and ensure all safety requirements are met," he said with sarcastically feigned sympathy, "shouldn't take more than a few hours unless something turns up." With that he sat down at the bar and ordered himself some salad. Somehow this wasn't surprising. "So, are you a genuine Independent or is it just part of ‘Karlson'?"

Eames pocketed his chewed up toothpick as the waiter placed his own order in front of him. He'd long forgotten what the name of the dish was but he knew he ordered a good bit of meat and potatoes and little cherry tomatoes, pinned together with cheese on little skewers. He picked up one of those to start with, gesturing with his food. "That depends on what you mean." He popped the morsel into his mouth, chewing for a bit before continuing. "Born vesselside, but to parents that hailed from a Rim planet. Did I fight in the war on the side of the Independents? I did, indeed, though perhaps by an agency not completely my own. Do I want to continue fighting? No, I think Shadow was proof enough that the Alliance was in the right," he said, slipping into sarcasm.

"Morality from someone who steals medication from a hospital," Hale said coldly, and if Eames heard right, a tad defensively. Eames had seen him falter when he'd mentioned Shadow. The server returned with the salad Hale had requested. Probably refrigerated. The nerve of these restaurants sometimes.

"I'm sorry I don't approve of torching a whole planet," he commented idly. “As for the meds, my knees are too weak to jump through all those hoops of red tape."

"No, you go through the proper channels, 笨天生的一堆肉。" Hale spat. "It's because of you, and people like you, those measures are in place. You can't just hold out your hands and expect the Alliance to give you what you want, there's not enough to meet demand as it is."

"Of course, you know this out of your wealth of personal experience and reliable news sources. Don't curse, darling, it doesn't suit you." Eames ate another tomato, savoring it. He was mildly thankful he picked a quiet, secluded place. Hale was getting rowdy.

"And where do your sources come from? The complaints of people at the far end of the 'Verse? We do the best we can, but there isn't enough, do you get that? And your little crusade puts us even further in the red," Hale railed on. "The reason there are forms and paperwork is to make sure the medicine goes where it's most needed. Or do you think you know best because you've been to a handful of planets? Don't condescend, you don't know a fucking thing about the Alliance and you don't know me."

He actually felt sorry for the guy. Perhaps the little speech should rile him up, but Eames found himself hoping the man would never find his way to a Border planet. And it wasn't even the slums, but the rich, who were supposedly all for the Alliance rules, yet they made deals in private just as well. Rules were rules, as long as they didn't apply to their hides. Regardless, he should change the subject.

Eames ordered a round of drinks for the both of them before cutting into his meat. "While we're sharing, then, I'm assuming you are born and raised Central, although you look a bit young to have been fighting in the war. You were a tad jumpy just looking at a brown coat, so I might be wrong."

"I'm not sharing, you are," Hale said bluntly. "Why wear the coat then, especially here, if you aren't looking for a fight?"

"I'm sharing? Are you sure? I could have been born on a kitten farm on Aberdeen for all you know." He raised his eyebrows, turning his utensils up in a mock shrug. "It wouldn't be a proper date if I did all the talking, anyway, and you don't exactly have a good cop to back you up. And lay off my coat, it's a good coat and I'm not having it dyed for the sake of some rich sod's peace of mind. You're more like to get into a fight in purple anyway."

That only got him a withering look and a snort at the notion this was a 'date.' "I could do better than you if I wanted a date, but fine. You answer my questions, I'll answer yours. Were you really born on a ship?"

"Naturally, I'm sure you have all sorts of suitors falling at your feet, but here we are. I was really born on a ship. Did you really fight in the war?" He signaled the barkeep to bring something less weighty this time, some scotch, perhaps and Hale echoed the order.

"Yes, I did." Hale took a mouthful of salad. "How long did you spend on the ship?"

"Around a month. Ever been off this world?"

"You mean after the war? A few times: I take a trip to Capital City every now and then, but I prefer to work. When I take a vacation I just worry about what clusterfuck I'm coming back to." Hale dumped his utensils into his now clean plate and took up a third drink as if to prove his point. Just Osiris? Eames sighed yet again. The man had never been anywhere, not anywhere that really mattered, anyway. And he was getting piss drunk trying not to think about it. Or maybe just drinking out his frustration at Eames who was still nursing his second. That much alcohol and a salad? This was too easy. Not to mention the new knowledge that Hale also liked to micromanage. Barrels of fun, this one. "So, you were raised out on one of the Rim worlds?"

"Yes. Good old planet, nothing special about it. Couldn't wait to get off it, if I were to be honest. Must have been written into me the day I was born. So it's all work with you? How dull. Don't you have family to visit at least?"

Hale just downed his drink and answered quickly. "You get one question. No, it isn't always work. I have hobbies. Tell me about your family, what were they like?"

"Hobbies. How specific." Eames hmmed and propped his cheek up on his knuckles. Maybe he wasn't actually drunk enough to deal with this. If it had been fun before, now he just felt like he was pulling teeth and kicking puppies at the same time. The way Hale had dodged the family question, answering the rhetorical one instead... Well, he could be nice. He finished his whiskey thoughtfully, raising his glass for the barkeep to refill. "They're alright folk, I guess. I stopped talking to my dad after mum died, he doesn't mind, busy tinkering with ships in the yard. He always did love ships. Doesn't know what I do, naturally, although he suspects. What sort of hobbies does my Renaissance Man have?"

Hale looked thrown for a second but simply ordered another drink, clinking their glasses together in what Eames could only take as silent thanks for not asking about family again. "I like museums, there's this gallery of art from Earth-That-Was sometimes I head out there when I need some quiet, and I enjoy," Hale said, taking a sip, "puzzles. Crossword, Sudoku, mazes, anything. I almost went into architecture, but then I realized most of what I wanted to do wasn't possible."

"Anything's possible with a little imagination, Mr. Hale," Eames grinned this time. Puzzles, well then. Maybe he wasn't so dull after all. He let his eyes trail down the sudden expanse of white shirt as Hale decided to lose his jacket before they were drawn back to slender fingers loosening a stiff tie. "They're always inventing new things to make the impossible a reality, aren't they?"

"What do you do when you aren't... stealing or harassing federal agents?" Hale asked before knocking back his glass and asking for more again. Clearly they were both already quite drunk. Eames downed his half empty glass anyway as Hale refilled. Maybe it was time to start winding this party down. He'd be tempted to steal something out of sheer principle if he had to take the fed home.

"When I'm on long hauls, I always bring a good book or two or ten. Classic, modern, children's books, doesn't matter. Passes the time without fail. Between illegal jobs, I fix up ships sometimes, it seems to be a family tradition that's hard to get rid of." He shifted his foot, bumping into the case Hale had stowed between their chairs. If he could just get that, he wouldn't have to wait till tomorrow to take off. Not that the evening didn't take a sudden turn for the enjoyable, but he doubted Hale would be as agreeable with the hangover that he was currently earning himself.

"What made you decide to take up arms against all the wrongs in the world then?" he asked as the barkeep mentioned they were to be wrapping up in fifteen. It was rather late after all. Hale just made a face and chugged yet another drink only to ask for one more. It was all vodka, too, this guy had control issues running both ways it seemed.

"I... I don't know." Hale laughed hollowly, "The Alliance offered the job and I took it, after the war. I couldn't stay in the military, got shot in the knee. It's fixed, but sometimes it hurts anyway. 's stupid..." He drank again, almost as if to stop himself from speaking any further. "Why'd you walk into my building? You coulda just took off, left Ariel without a word," he asked instead. Boy, was he drunk.

Not that Eames wasn't feeling the effects himself, but he wasn't the one trying to catch a criminal. What was also unfortunate was that he couldn't help but like the guy, stick in the mud though he might be. He was very human and apparently a touch miserable, much more so than when Eames first saw him typing away at a desk.

He didn't like him enough to want to drag him home, however and he stole the glass out of Hale's hands after he'd drunk his, what, fifth, sixth drink? Not that he wouldn't already have to, it seemed. "That's enough for you. And yeah, I could have, but what would the fun be in that? Not to mention leaving on the eve of a pretty big heist is an automatic red flag. I also needed to get rid of the card, you don't know how many people would kill for that sort of access, even if it's damaged. But you can say I like to tempt fate by walking into Alliance dens. No one's been as quick on the uptake as you so far." Or as lucky. Or as attractive and grumbling something about thieves as he realized the glass was no longer in his hand seconds too late.

"How about you go freshen up, since I know how easy it is to get a drunk and disorderly on this world. We can continue our question game outside." Maybe Hale would sober up with a splash of water so Eames wouldn't have to be tempted to take more of an advantage than he needed to. There were rules about this sort of thing, mostly unspoken ones. He dug in his pocket for his wallet instead, almost jumping out of his skin as Hale's hand wrapped around his wrist.

"I don't need credit fraud on top of everything else you've done," Hale said sternly, sounding more alert, and passed his own card to the bartender. "I'm going to be right back, don't leave." And then, as luck would have it, he picked up his briefcase and headed into the bathroom. Damn.

"This is hard earned gambling money, should you know," Eames quipped, mostly to himself now, cursing himself inwardly as he split the bill. It was his own mistake for drinking as much as he did, Hale could have been faking and just cuffed him there and then. Not that he had anything to hold him on, but it was unpleasant to consider anyway. He shouldn't stick around for much longer, that was for sure.

What was he going to do now? The officer clearly retained enough capacity to not let him anywhere near his house, so how was he going to get his hands on the brief? A grumble and he stood, adjusting his coat and ignoring the lightheadedness that accompanied the change. It was getting a little bit stuffy and he was antsy to go outside, since he couldn't exactly take off his coat and show off the gun tucked into the waist of his pants. Especially not to jumpy feds. He had no choice but to wait and smirk sullenly at Alain, the maitre d' who he still hadn't talked to as planned. Who just parted his hands in a light shrug. Not his problem indeed.

When Hale returned, he seemed even more sober, enough to frown at the split bill and put on his jacket. Eames just checked a sigh and followed Hale outside.

"We should find somewhere to go," Hale suggested as soon as they were out in the comparatively fresh air.

"You actually haven't had enough to drink?" Eames questioned. "Darling, don't you have work in the morning?" He still thought he could get information out of him or something? Because that was going swimmingly so far, if you wanted to count a big fat nostalgic zero as progress. Eames needed that tablet though, while he had the chance. He sighed, then shrugged, content to follow. "Lead on then, Mister Hale, but I take all blame off myself for this evening or the morning after. By that I mean the roaring hangover you're in the process of earning yourself, love," he felt that needed a bit of clarification.

"You promised me all night," Hale said, startling a cough out of Eames, "and yes. To both. I work in the morning and I want another drink." 

"I said no such thing," Eames crossed his arms petulantly and grimaced, trying to parse out exactly how much attention they were calling to themselves. How was this suddenly his life that he was following drunken cops around Ariel?

"You're staying in the Abelux, room 528... or 491?" Hale asked as if he hadn't heard him before stopping to focus on the ground. Dizzy probably.

Maybe he invited a bit more trouble than this was worth if the man was going through his fail proofs this fast. He thought he was being extra careful by booking a room when in reality he stayed on his ship but he never imagined he'd actually need it. What was Hale even playing at, did he want to be taken to a private location and smothered? Or... Smothered, yes, let's just stick with that. Really more trouble than this was worth.

"真沒耐性的佛祖, 528, yeah, but why exactly?" He tapped his foot, watching Hale watch the slowly turning ground.

"You said," Hale began, cleared his throat and tried again, "You said, 'we can play twenty questions all night and day' if I liked. Your words." He looked up this time, straightening up as if he didn't just need to take a break from walking. "Hotels have minibars, I have questions. Can we go or what?"

"Ah, I said 'could'. 'Could play' as in possibility." Eames rubbed his forehead, trying to weigh all his options within the span of the several conversational seconds he had. It only served to expedite his incoming hangover. Okay, he could use some more to drink. "Fine, we can go," he half growled, deciding to hell with it. "You have to be the most demanding date I have ever had. Are you always this stubborn?" Eames took a couple steps forward, looking around to get a clearer bearing. It wouldn't be far to the hotel and he might get an opening to nick the pad there. He'd rather do it without Hale noticing and putting up a ruckus but for goddsakes the man was starting to be impossible.

"You aren't scoring any points either. Are you always this awful?" Hale asked, starting to walk after him, clutching his briefcase possessively. At least it was just a block away because Hale was all but startling at every shuttle that happened to pass by.

"I try, especially for you," Eames said and rolled his eyes, digging around in his pocket for the keycard that he should have in there somewhere. It wouldn't surprise him if he'd actually lost it somewhere, but it turned up in his coat. Great, just great.

He stepped through the neat sliding doors first, the card already in his hand. It might have been late but there were still plenty of people mulling about the foyer, some who he knew would look twice should they see him with his tail. Eames walked briskly across the floor, pressing the elevator button. At least in here it didn't smell, even if he preferred his bed on the ship far more.

"If you try anything, remember there are cameras and witnesses," Arthur warned, as they got in the elevator.

"Yes, yes, I'll be sure to keep both arms and legs inside the ride at all times," Eames mumbled, leaning against the polished chrome wall and pressing the button. "How many criminals have you caught in your glorious federal career then?" he asked, wondering if Hale was actually good or just lucky.

"Personally, I've been involved in 98 cases that led to arrests, and I've overseen 268. Mostly fraud and embezzlement not anything like yours..." Hale trailed off. For the seven years since the the end of the war, that was not shabby, not shabby at all. Not to mention that fraud wasn't exactly the easiest thing to discover. Well, then, he would look forward to feeling smug when he finally delivered the cargo and got his payment. "The medicine was thrown out in the garbage, or something that leaves the hospital, and collected later."

"Is that supposed to count as a question?" Eames rolled his eyes again. "Fine, cheater. No is your answer. What time do you need to get up typically?" Maybe not the smartest question but it was getting late and he couldn't help but wonder in exactly how much misery Hale would find himself in come morning.

"You're good," Hale said, sounding awed. "I can't wait to have you in handcuffs."

"Kinky," Eames couldn't help but comment, chuckling as Arthur wrinkled his nose. Was he doing it on purpose or was he really just that drunk? That drunk, Eames decided, watching Hale trying to not fall on his face with the starts and stops of the elevator.

"Nine," was the reply, finally, to how early Hale needed to be up. "Worried about me? You haven't had a hangover until you've had a bucket of moonshine."

He was a terrible liar to boot. A workaholic who came in to work at nine didn't exist, much less one who only woke up then. "And bucket of moonshine or not, I know for a fact you lot were called in early today, round three in the morning if any one around there knows what they're doing." If he counted that exhaustion on top of a salad and a good too many vodkas, he was impressed that Hale was only attempting to acquaint his face with the floor as the elevator opened.

"Three?" Hale asked, somewhere between angry and shocked, "I didn't get a call until almost four! 喝畜生雜交的髒貨, someone should have told me!" Eames just shook his head.

He let him fume, turning right down the hall and swiping into the room as soon as he found it. It was predictably untouched, unlived in and far more polished than Eames would like for a place where he supposedly wandered around in his pants. It was warm as well and he shrugged out of his coat, momentarily forgetting about his gun, but then deciding fuck all, and throwing the old duster onto the hooks anyway. "Can't imagine you drinking a whole bucket of moonshine, either. In one sitting?"

"Yes, all at once," Hale said, sounding distracted. "I assume you'll be putting that up before drinking?"

"I'm already drinking, what does it matter?" Eames said, faltering. He wouldn't typically part with his gun, in case someone made off with it. But he was the better thief in the room, wasn't he, so he shrugged, untucking it from his belt and stashing it in his coat. He freed his shirt tails in the process as well, not much caring how unironed and rumpled they looked. 

Boy, were they going to be mixing. Maybe he would take a jog back to the docks and he'd probably get there late enough that the tea stand will be open and he could get some chamomile, that always fixed him right up...

He sat down on the bed in the middle of the room, not really looking forward to standing for any longer and cracked open the minibar. Hale dragged over a chair. Miniatures, how adorable. "Welp, you've got a whole ton of choices for the encore tonight's entertainment. What shall it be?"

"If there's good whiskey or a bourbon," Hale said before asking: "Favorite book, or whatever book you read last?"

"Depends on your definition of good." Eames fished out something that looked decent and grabbed another one for himself. He tossed the first one to Hale, then unwrapped his own, cracking the lid with his teeth, tasting it as soon as it was open. At the same time, he made note of the suitcase before his eyes got drawn to the white of Hale's shirt again.

Now that he looked at him head on again, he could barely remember why he thought the guy could be a robot. Tie askew and missing his jacket, Hale looked more like he was begging to be further unwrapped. Eames coughed, turning his attention back to the alcohol sliding down his throat, trying not to choke on it. It wasn't too shabby, he allowed, before considering his answer. "Last book I read was _Catcher in the Rye_. Droll but ultimately useless stuff, were I to be honest, although I'm sure it made more sense in it's time period. I'm more fond of things like _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ or _Blade Runner_ , it's always amusing what people thought the future would be like. Yours?" He kicked back the rest of the miniature, squinting at the label for lack of a safer place to look.

A huff of amusement. "I didn't think _Hitchhiker's Guide_ was supposed to be the future… I don't have much time to read, honestly, I think the last one was _The Ghost Map_." There was a pause. "I liked _The Stranger_."

"Well, space travel, 's what I meant," Eames amended. He'd managed to forget a good bit of the more Earth-That-Was parts to focus on the rest of it he realized. "And, really, that one where he shoots a guy ten times for no good reason?" It was somehow suitable, perhaps, if ironically critical of justice. He filed that thought away, giving his empty bottle a thoughtful twirl in his fingers. "I did lots of things in the war. Flew supply runs and some rescue, shot at people from under a mound of dirt. Nothing much special, and spent most of the time quaking in my boots doing it. Don't think it's right for young folks to learn of their mortality that early. Doesn't sit right. Guess I'm living that crazy part of my life out now instead." Or maybe it was something of survivors guilt in him. Nothing good would come of digging inside himself, that was for certain. He dug in the bar instead, fishing out another two bottles, handing one over instead of tossing it this time. Couldn't trust his aim, nor Hale's depth perception for that matter. Their hands brushed. "You? And how old were you, exactly, when you joined?" And when had Hale managed to roll up his sleeves and end up looking even further disheveled? 狗屎, he'd run out of things to blame now. He settled for unbuttoning his collar to rub at the back of his neck with hands cooled from the fridge. That was a bit better.

"I was sixteen," Hale admitted somberly. Their eyes met. "I agree with you now, the part about being too young. I... " he cut himself off to drink the hastily opened bottle in his hand. Eames focused on war stories. War stories were never fun and that was what he needed, not noting that Hale was still running far warmer now that they'd touched. They should remind him of danger, and sadness, and there we go. He was a bit slower in tearing through the cap of his bottle now.

"Sixteen then? No wonder. I think I was nineteen, or there abouts. It's easier to talk about it when you felt horrid even before everyone around you started dying. I can't imagine what it was like for those kids who went into the war imagining they'd come out heroes and left without limbs, if they left at all. Fat lot of good wars do for anyone, I guess." He rubbed the palm of his hand over his face again, before balancing it on his knee so he could stare at it, taking a small sip from his bottle. Seemed like they had entered the more melancholy part of their evening. "And you still have little kids going, oh, Mister, Mister, tell me a story about how you were brave, how you killed all the bad guys with one bullet. And what am I supposed to say, oh, no, Mister here was a terrible coward and hid behind a rock while explosions ripped his comrades to pieces?" He probably said a little too much now so he cleared his throat and sat up, risking a glance at his watch. Alright, not terrible.

Hale smiled a little bitterly into his drink then raised his glass in agreement. "That or those sad eyes people give you, poor you, poor poor you. Poor me, ha, I lived. I made it home in one piece even, so no. Not poor me."

"Well, you did get shot, didn't you? That's not exactly one piece." It was hard to come up with a question that would take them back to a happier topic. Eames swirled the bourbon around in its bottle, thinking. "Got any siblings?" he finally offered after a minute of silence as he watched Hale's tedious progress all of the three feet to the fridge to get another drink, his mood soured enough that he only found it vaguely amusing.

Hale got his drink, then turned to go towards his chair again. The progress back to the chair seemed to be going even worse and Eames only raised his eyebrows when Hale took a seat on the edge of the bed. It seemed he had been keeping it together quite well before, if he was this out of it after a couple of miniatures.

"No, only me," was the answer to his question. "Do-" Hale hiccupped, "you?" There was a small silence then a laugh startled him and he sat up in time for - "我的天阿﹗" an armful of warm fed and all the smells of clean linen and aftershave that somehow hadn't aired out yet and he had absolutely not signed up for this. "No, but you," it was not a difficult feat to extricate the sealed bottle from Hale's fingers and shove it in his pocket for lack of better places, "need to stop drinking."

青蛙操的流氓, this was ridiculous and he was never good at restraint, anyway. He just hoped Hale would pass out soon because the temptation was not going away not matter what horrid war stories he tried to recall.

"贼脏," Hale murmured and reached for the bottle Eames had just taken away, knocking them both over in the process. Apparently, he was also content to stay half on top of Eames, only raising himself to his elbows. "Your mouth is obscene, d'you know that?"

If he could just. Think. Straight. This would be easier. Absolutely not straight, his mind helpfully supplied instead. Which didn't help him in the slightest. "Is... It... Now?" he finally managed after a long moment of uncharacteristic speechlessness, then decided, fuck it, he was enjoying this while he had the chance. He was leaving, he'd hardly return back to Ariel any time soon and running into the man again was unlikely to say the least. Not that his hand wasn't taking roaming initiative even before that conclusion, sliding down and under Hale's belt, rumpling the shirttails as he pulled them out bit by bit until his fingers reached skin. Hale just rolled his hips, the bastard.

He probably should be ashamed to have been seduced this easily but at the same time he couldn't find it in him to care. Instead, he used his free hand to undo Hale's tie a bit more, pulling it out of where it was tucked into his vest as well.

"Yeah," Hale said above him, agreeing to something Eames must have said earlier because right now all he could think about now was the fact that his shirt was being unbuttoned and a warm hand progressing slowly up from his stomach to his chest. "This... is probably," Hale began, "a bad idea."

"Bad idea, absolutely, couldn't agree with you more," Eames allowed easily, popping the large buttons on Hale's vest instead. Because he clearly was not the only one taking advantage of their situation. But shit, was he enjoying the slide of the palm up his chest, warm and clearly unrepentant. He was completely supportive of stopping, of course he was, but someone had to go first and it wasn't going to be him. "In fact, if you could just go ahead and stop, that would be fine by me..." Eames was surprised his body's protests weren't actually audible. And why did there have to be so many buttons? So, so many buttons, who in their right mind allowed this many to be on one person? He pulled on the tie again, unknotting it and letting it slide off.

"Whenever you're ready, luv." Or so he said, instead sliding his hand further up Hale's shirt and pressing down on the smooth curve of his spine, coaxing him closer as Hale laughed.

"It's been eight months, and you started it, you stop," Hale demanded. "We are very ineb- iner- enbri, fuck," he cut off and laughed again, burying his face in Eames' neck and licking at it, moving in closer.

"I started nothing, I am absolutely clean of any and all levied accusations, mmm, please inquire with the alcohol-" Eames growled, giving up, and pushed, rolling the both of them over and farther from the edge of the bed, starting in on the remaining buttons. Fuck exactly. His fine motor skills were nothing to brag about so he nipped along the clean shaven jaw instead, one elbow braced on the bed. Hale moaned. "No wonder you're such a stick-in-the-mud," he offered smartly, giving up on the shirt halfway in favor of tracing his palms along Hale's ribs.

The comment got him a knee jab but little else and Eames chuckled. He concentrated instead on eliciting sounds from his officer, laughing further when Hale pushed his shirt off like it offended him. He forgot to be suitably annoyed by it, however. Hands were too distracting and too warm. "Can I get a name, or should I just shout someone else's?" Hale asked.

Eames nipped at Hale's ear instead before deigning to answer. "M'afraid not, darling. You know how it is, with the going to jail and everything. So feel free to pick a name, Mr. Hale. Arthur," he tested the name out, ending up sounding more amused than was probably necessary, finally undoing the last button on Hale's shirt, granting him access to collar bones and the rest of the curves of the neck.

"流口水的婊子和猴子的笨兒子, then?" Hale asked like the prat he was, humming as Eames kissed along his neck.

"Ooh, if you're going to be that eloquent I'd have to be doing something wrong, Arthur." Eames chuckled again, finding he liked the name.

"Too long," Arthur mused languidly after a little, hands rising up to touch Eames' arms. "Beautiful."

Eames looked up as fingers traveled over his shoulders and along his tattoos, fighting off a smile. "I'm glad you approve, darling," he said.

"Still 'm not impressed," Arthur slurred and groaned as Eames ducked down to bite a kiss into Arthur's lips, undoing the Arthur's belt clasp in the process. He wished he could move it along faster, but it was hard enough to keep the room from swimming out of focus, much less participate in acrobatics. And then Arthur was out, asleep, mouth slack and breathing even.

Eames lifted his head, raising his eyebrows. Out like a light. Reverse Sleeping Beauty. He chuckled and rested his forehead on the other's, more amused by his own joke than he probably should be. Not that he hadn't seen this coming, or at least he remembered having that thought, but he felt enormously disappointed anyway. Not that anything could really be done about this, he could probably shake Hale upside down and not get a peep.

He remembered being against this is the first place, too, but it was hard to parse out why from his addled mind. With a little effort, he picked through the haze of alcohol and fading lust to remember about the pad. Right. That was a thing he should do.

He picked his discarded shirt up from the sheets and slid off the bed, tossing it on the chair and detouring to the bathroom to shove his head under the faucet and turn on the cold water. Oh, that was much better. He wandered back out with a towel on his shoulders, sighing at the sight on the bed. He was still drunk enough to not feel any shame for being seduced so easily, or exactly how this could have lead to tragedy on his part. Instead, he figured he should make the best of it.

As first order of business, Eames plopped himself down in the chair, unlatching the suitcase and pulling out the pad. It was only too easy to undo the freeze on his ship and clear it for take off in three hours. Well, at least this wasn't a total bust.

Eames stood again, grabbing his shirt and dumping the pad onto the seat of the chair. No point in cleaning up after himself, exactly. He hovered over Arthur instead, wondering if he should be nice. Nah. He could stand to be more obnoxious. He relieved Arthur of shirt, vest, pants and shoes, mussing up the sheets in the process and tossed the clothing in various locations, making sure to separate all pairs from each other as far as possible. Taking a little bit of pity, he decided against drinking the water bottle from the fridge, instead leaving it on the bedside table. He replaced the miniature from his pocket back to where it came from, counting himself lucky it hadn't actually cracked or opened in his trousers.

The setup cleared his head even more, enough to sour his mood and remember exactly how close he managed to step to getting caught. Good thing there was no reason to even think about Ariel anymore, and since Arthur-Hale didn't leave the world much, but for Osiris, there was no reason he would be seeing him again, either. He deactivated the alarm on the pad out of spite and typed up a note before heading out the door.

_Got to fly, but thanks for the entertaining evening, darling. Don't feel too horrible in the morning. -E_


	2. Chapter 2

The Evesdown Docks was not somewhere Arthur ever imagined being, even as he stepped off his ride. The place was a chaotic, unorganized nightmare with ships taking off and landing only seconds apart. The smell of greasy food clung to the inside of his nostrils and the sound of thousands of voices rang in his ears, disorienting him for several seconds. Not that Ariel hadn't had its share of hustle and bustle, but it wasn't like this, and it didn’t leave him covered in dust.

Arthur rolled up his burgundy sleeves and braced himself for the next few weeks of his life. A few weeks to cull enough evidence to take down a man known as Badger and all he had was a thin promise of aid from the local law enforcement and access restricted to half of what he'd grown used to back home.

He didn't even have the connections, no one here had any idea he who he was, agent or not. Anonymity was good, but only to an extent. He knew what this was though: do the impossible, or step down and Arthur was not about to step down just because some 流口水的婊子和猴子的笨兒子 managed to steal over a million credits worth of medication. And sleep with the director of the case. Whether or not his superiors knew about that last bit was something Arthur preferred not to dwell on.

Three months and still bitter - he'd woken up late, furious and with a hangover that day, ending up giving a family of five an earful when he found out that Karlson had departed hours earlier - but the case was dead and out of his hands. It was time to focus on this one. He made use of what few resources he was granted and linked into the dock logs. He was supposed to head for the hotel to pick up a package, one that he would try to fence, but taking a quick look to see if it had even arrived planetside would help him determine just how much of a rush he should be in-- wait.

He couldn't be sure, but that was the same model ship Karlson flew and it was due for landing in bay four. It was a thin lead but worth a pursuing, Arthur decided. The Saint Lucy's case might be dead, but someone with connections in the less savory areas of business might get him to Badger, back in the Alliance's good books and back on Ariel.

So he placed himself just in front of the ship's exit after it landed and he hoped. The full registration wasn't available to him yet, so he didn't have a name, but it would be easy to obtain once he visually confirmed it was Karlson. He had to be using a different name, or the backdoor access Arthur had set up with the Cortex would have notified him, local firewalls or no.

The hatch dropped, revealing exactly the same Karlson from Ariel, still in his brown duster and horrible taste in shirts. At the very least, Arthur was glad to note, the man faltered in his steps as they made eye contact. Probably not looking forward to being caught. He could only wish he had enough evidence. That infuriating smile, of course, did not fade in the slightest.

"Hello, there, darling, come to pick me up?" the thief addressed him, adding on a mock salute as if his mere existence wasn’t obnoxious enough.

Arthur smiled a little tightly and took a few steps closer, glancing at the stream of information finally available. The ship was under the name Eames, that explained the 'E' left in the note. All things considered, he was certain this was as close to a real last name - the given name spot was blank - as he was going get. But Arthur knew that short of Eames giving a full confession to the theft he wouldn't be impressing anyone by bringing him in, and while the fact that Eames had given him the blank card was suspicious, Arthur had poured through the evidence enough times to know the link was tenuous at best. He had no pressing urge to tell him that though.

"I could," he said as though considering it, "the identity fraud alone would land you ten years. I've got a deal though, if you're interested, Mr. Eames."

He would tell the man to stop calling him darling, but that would probably encourage him.

"It'd still be your word over mine, wouldn't it?

"On the theft," Arthur conceded, his eyes back on his pad and fingers sliding over it as he tried not to bristle at how close to home Eames hit. He summoned the docket he'd put together from billing statements and the docking report on Ariel and placed it on screen next to the record on Persephone. He turned it over for Eames' viewing. "Unless you've got a twin, there's still fraud. My standing aside, that's not something the Alliance is in the habit of overlooking. So what I'm offering is ten years, you can spend them locked up or you can make both our lives easier and help me find a man that goes by Badger."

Admitting it would help him too showed more vulnerability than Arthur liked, especially to Eames, but it had already been guessed at; his... fall from grace, and the man seemed preternaturally good at reading people. It seemed pointless to lie and it wouldn't harbor any trust between them - right now he needed Eames to believe Arthur would let him walk away.

Instead of agreeing placidly, Eames waved the pad away, a look of surprise and then disbelief coloring his features. "I- Badger?!" he hissed, taking a step closer and looking around as if the guy was going to pop out from behind the nearest pile of crates. "You're insane on top of desperate, yeah, if you want to deal with a psychotic like him. His might not be the biggest den but it is the gorram gutsiest. Do you actually want to wind up killed in some dumpster where no one will ever find you? Because if he, or anyone really, even gets a _sniff_ that you're Alliance..." Eames gestured to the pad in Arthur’s hands before pinching the bridge of his nose. Apparently extremely animated wasn’t just a character Eames had been playing - Arthur had been expecting anything now, including a blank slate. Was the pad supposed to be proof that he was Alliance? "At least I know you aren't drunk, which probably makes your idea sound even worse."

"If he finds out then I'm dead and you tell him I forced your hand, but you knew I'd get caught," Arthur said. "I'm not seeing a downside for you here."

He wasn't overly concerned for his life, he was armed and well-trained. The war might have been over, but Arthur still kept a regime. The four worst years of his life weren't something he could just throw away and forget, and martial arts were probably the only form of therapy he could tolerate. Granted, if Badger sicced a mob on him...

"I'm not concerned with my life here, for once," Eames groaned and shifted from foot to foot, frustrated. "Not to mention there are plenty of nonverbal cues I can use to sell you out behind your back, and you won't be able to force my hand with a bullet in your brain, will you, so that's going to be a bit hard to believe. Not that you needed to know that." He looked heavenward. Arthur frowned, not sure what to make of the first statement and slightly mortified to have not considered the second. Turned out confronting Eames had been the right move.

"You think I don't know this is shit?" Arthur hissed, "That's why I'm asking for your help." He looked down at his pad. He thought it was fairly nondescript, it was, after all, a standard model that he'd customized and upgraded himself. On Ariel even the kids had a few of these. "Is this really a giveaway?"

"It's from a central world and it doesn't look cracked into or stolen. You might as well be walking around looking like money's hanging out of your pocket." Eames crossed his arms, sighing. “What kind of help can I even give you? I can't deflect bullets, nor actually turn invisible or into other people no matter what some might say. Not to mention Badger knows me. He's not about to underestimate me, either."

"If I didn't know you better I'd say you cared." Arthur quipped before realizing that Eames was serious about the device and tucking it away in his ever-present briefcase. "The median income for Persephone is nearly a hundred thousand credits a year, a pad like mine can't be that uncommon."

Though as Arthur inspected the people more closely and noticed the dirt-smeared faces, patchwork and mismatched clothing, a hundred grand a year didn't seem likely. The knowledge sat uncomfortably, even as he tried to ignore it.

Eames just gave him a face. Arthur had stopped bothering categorize it. "Are you that upset about... Everything, that you're suicidal? And I _would_ prefer no one to end up dead, since you asked, it doesn't sit right. Not to mention violence isn't typically the best approach to take to a one man operation. The first thing you've got to get straight is that facts are not going to cut it here. For instance, if you're making that much money you're not going to need to be anywhere near here for any prolonged amount of time."

Arthur couldn't lie and say that being caught out with such frighteningly abysmal information didn't smart. He'd accepted the file he been given at face value on short notice. He'd blindly assumed that if the disparity were this great, the fact would have been mentioned. A paranoid part of him smelled a set-up, which didn't make any logical sense. He'd failed to catch Eames, who had only made off with a little over a million credits. That was a drop in the water compared to some of the _ponzi_ schemes and extortion cases Arthur had solved.

"No, I'm not suicidal, or I wouldn't be cutting a deal with you. You managed to break into one of the most secure places in Ariel without a trace, I know you can come up with something better than fucking Nash ever could," Arthur stated. Nash was useless, in Arthur's personal and professional opinion, but Nash was the head on Persephone with the jurisdiction Arthur lacked.

"What I'm asking, Mr. Eames, is for a better plan than what I've got, and enough information to make it happen." Arthur had already brandished a stick, now he'd try dangling a carrot, "You get me in and out safely and I will grant you five minutes of unrestricted, untraceable, access to the Cortex. I'll be the only one that knows what you did and it'll be my word against yours."

"Unless, Badger's too smart for you," he couldn't resist tossing out. A cheap ploy, but it was really all he had. He needed Eames for this. The Alliance had given him a half-assed plan and, evidently, half-assed intelligence.

"Untraceable access to the Cortex?" Eames asked, leaning in again as if he was still afraid of being overheard. Arthur was starting to believe him. "Are you really that desperate, Arthur?"

There was a beat and Arthur just waited, hoping it would work.

"Alright, fine," Eames capitulated. "We can try. But I would imagine this will need a more private setting for discussion." Eames nodded to his ship. "No booze, this time, though."

"Shame, that was the only memorable part of the night," Arthur snidely quipped. Now that Eames had agreed and stood to gain from this exchange Arthur felt the need recover some of his lost dignity. "Lead the way."

Eames sighed and dug in his coat for his key. "So glad to be your saving grace, darling," he said sarcastically. "How lucky for you that I’m more use than your incompetent co-workers, even if you don't remember the tear jerking personal stories and lively feats of strength." There was some more muttering after that which Arthur tuned out. He remembered a good deal of talking: it had filtered in incongruously, but he was certain he remembered the majority. He also recalled sharing more about his own life than he cared to admit, but after their discussion on the war his memory was hazy at best. Almost impressionistic... with a few images in perfect clarity.

"Not lively enough," Arthur muttered, a part of him curious to know what actually happened. He'd been in the clear medically which could mean any number of things: Eames was clean, there hadn't been penetration, they used a condom, Arthur had incredible luck. Not that it mattered, Arthur supposed, it was just something he preferred to know.

He followed Eames and resisted the urge to roll his eyes by politely averting them while the man keyed his entry even as Eames tried to block him out with his shoulder. Then he followed him inside, taking the time to survey the ship. Nostalgia hit him harder than he anticipated. He'd flown in one of these during the war, perhaps not the precisely the same model, but then maybe Eames had somehow landed his hands on a military version. Of course, Arthur would have kept her tidier.

"What's her name?" Arthur asked on a whim, doubtful he'd get a real answer, but interested regardless.

"Her name?" Eames paused. "Rook, that's her. I'm surprised you asked instead of just looking it up. It should be in the system by now. Also, there's nothing illegal on her at this time, so if you would resist digging through my stuff I'd be much obliged."

"Thought my chances of an honest answer were better if I asked," Arthur said, half-true, "thanks for the confirmation." He smiled wryly at the preemptive claim of innocence, "Good to know, and just so we're clear, I'm not granting immunity for anything beyond what our plan might require. So, Eames is really your name then?"

"Yeah, so it happens to be. And fat chance I'm getting any job offers with you hanging around. Because I ain't clearing you in anyone's confidence past what we need for the job, either. Could probably wreck the whole smuggling and stealing business if you get your sticky paws on the more valuable contacts. Now, the plan?" Eames gestured for them to sit down on the crates. It didn’t look like he was going to get a tour. Pity.

"The plan is, I pick up a package and have Badger fence it. There's a trace on it and Nash's team will descend as soon as I activate it. The trace should also record the entire transaction. My name is Arthur Milton, an accountant from Ita."

"Well, then, accountant Arthur Milton, what's the package? This can go all manners south if it's something Badger decides to do through intermediaries. Or sell off-planet, unless you want to get your hands on a hapless pilot. Or better yet just set us up with a buyer and stay out of the whole transaction himself. Not to mention that trace needs to be so hidden that the person who put it there shouldn't be able to find it given a week. And it can't be deactivated by tampering or magnetic fields. _And_ that team of yours better be stellar, as well." He rubbed his eyes. "You don't have enough resources to push this through completely, do you? Because so far this has to be the most undeveloped 狗屎 I've heard this close to Central. Considering the price of failure is imminent death and we'll have to go in several times - start the deal, show the ware, bring it back once he finds the buyer and try not to get shot in the process."

Arthur stiffened unconsciously at how quickly Eames picked up on the lack of preparedness for this case. Arthur didn’t even know what was in the package. A part of him was relieved, if even someone unfamiliar with protocol could tell the plan was terribly ill-formed.

"Your grasp of the obvious is invaluable," Arthur delivered dryly, "and Nash thought it best I not know the contents of the package until it arrives, in case of a security breach. As I keep reminding you, I am firmly aware of the many inherent problems with the so-called plan, but this is Nash's planet. I'm here to make it happen. If you think I would pick sale of stolen goods out of the laundry list of crimes Badger is linked to, I'm offended."

Arthur opened his suitcase and pulled out a case file, crossing over to hand it to him. "And if you think I would try to make a move with a file this small, I'm also offended. I've got a longer dossier on Karlson. So what I need is for you to stop telling me what I already know and move on to everything you know about Badger."

Eames sighed noisily and took the file with a long-suffering roll of his eyes. "Fucking coppers... Present company not excluded. What in the ‘Verse were you going to do if I hadn't landed neatly in your gorram lap?" he ground out and flipped through the file, shaking his head.

"Don't bitch," Arthur quipped, "five minutes of unrestricted access is the best deal you're going to find out here and Badger is the only person I'm interested in, the rest are Nash's problem." Which wasn't to say Arthur wouldn't tear apart any smuggling rings he might encounter, but it was far from a priority.

He watched Eames go through the dossier and saw his own incredulity reflected, if more exaggerated.

"There’s no way you have more on Karlson. Make note of all my tattoos, did you, to pad the dossier out? Or are we counting everything you've just learned, too?" Eames snapped the file shut, sitting back against the wall and stretching his feet out.

Eames just _had_ to mention his tattoos and now the image of his ink-stained skin was suddenly at the forefront of Arthur’s mind. His breath caught for a split-second and he dared to hope it went unnoticed.

He remembered those - wanting to lick them more precisely, and he probably had if Eames was making an issue of them."Well, nothing else was worth mentioning," and he gave a pointed look at Eames' crotch. So he liked tattoos, he wasn't ashamed.

"Then I'll bitch all I want, thank you. And while I'm sure you don't speculate, darling," Eames looked up and tilted his head smugly, taking out his toothpick to point with it. "You certainly like to make exceptions for me. Considering your info is rather faulty due to copious amounts of alcohol. Does that make me special? Or do you want another go? And speaking of which, why the everloving hell were you even drinking that much? Not that it didn't work out in my favor, I'm just curious. Even if you wanted info, it's a bit hard to remember it pissed off your ass."

"I'm sure I remember everything that was worth remembering - don't feel too badly though, I've heard alcohol can impair performance." Arthur laced it with heavy sarcasm. "Faulty information? Another go? Please, Eames, don't waste my time. I've slept with you once, I have no desire to do it again." Belatedly, Arthur realized Eames may have meant something else by 'another go' but the words were said and quite telling of where his mind was if he were wrong.

He left the question of 'why' entirely alone. He wasn't going to admit the sheer amount of drinking had been unintentional, that there had been something casual and comfortable about the evening, even with the underlying tension and itch to out think. Arthur could have almost described it as... fun. Entertaining at the very least. Even with large gaps in memory, Arthur found Eames far more memorable than some actual dates he'd been on. And even now he had a strange, internal instinct to answer the question anyway. A dangerous half-formed habit.

"Oh, it impaired performance alright," Eames said with a whistle. Arthur could only grimace. "You are just so sure of everything, aren't you, even if you don't remember it. And if you're not certain of something you pretend you are until you weasel it out of someone under some pretense."

"That's rich coming from a conman and a thief," Arthur spat - he took the attack on his character far more seriously than the one on his drunken sexual practices, "I'm sorry, who walked into whose office with an assumed identity and an agenda? You're going to regret that decision if you don't already."

"Hey, all I'm sayin' is that if you have a question, just ask it," Eames raised his palms up in defense. "I'll probably tell you or say I can't tell you, Lord knows why I do it but there you go. Worked well enough that night, after you stopped being passive aggressive about it. And hell yes, I regret walking in there. All I ever wanted from life was a nice peaceful heist and now we're planning on hitting the proverbial beehive with a stick," he concluded, sounding more tired than accusatory.

Arthur went from menacing to guarded and replayed their interaction. Eames was an asshole, Arthur had no doubts there, but perhaps he had read more malice into his words than was necessarily there. He was used to sniveling, groveling, frigidness and formalities but Eames distantly reminded him of some of his fellow soldiers: brash and crude, taunting but never quite cruel.

But only if Arthur let himself make the connection and he couldn't say he wanted another reason to think fondly of Eames . "Tell me about Badger," he said sternly. They needed to be moving on.

"Badger believes himself to be a businessman but also above all the clientele he works with. 'Roots in the community or somethin','" Eames adopted what Arthur could only assume to be Badger's movements and accent in a sort of parody, before sneering. "The den itself is smack in the middle of the docks with hundreds of passerby, so torching the bugger is unfortunately out of the question. There are three exits out the sides and the roof is glass and easily opened. He deals in everything: antiques, foodstuffs, livestock, slaves, you name it. Most of the time he only inspects the merch, if that, and his goons do the rest. There's at least seven of said goons around him at any given time, all armed, including the stenographer. I'm still not sure why he has one of those, probably to feel important. Your best bet would be to get something that he'd take personal interest in, which is either something _very_ valuable or something that has a personal value for him, which guarantees both that he won't refuse you outright and will actually handle the transaction himself."

Arthur listened critically to every word, turning it over and slotting it into place. He didn't have any control over what Nash sent him, but maybe he could make it work. "How's his ego? If he knew someone else wanted the merch, would he go after it? Could we convince him something worthless was valuable?"

"Maybe." Eames scratched behind his ear, thinking. "It wouldn't hurt to mention some other potential candidates. Anyone with money, influence and skewed morals. There are several other dens on Persephone, perhaps not as infamous as Badger's one, though. I'd have more but we're trying to stay on the planet. There's also the slight possibility he might check, of course, but that's rather small. I'm not exactly up to date on interden politics at the moment. The most pretentious and also in Badger's territory would be Lee Yao. Hopefully they've had a spat recently, because they are known to work together occasionally, and that wouldn't be good for anyone."

"I don't suppose we could acquire that information in short order? Is there a proverbial 'water cooler'?"

Eames shook his head. "There's none, do you think you're the first to think trying to take advantage of that? It's all word of mouth and more of a web than anything, but I can check in with some of my contacts to get a handle on it."

This was all good information - far better than anything Arthur had. A life saver, even. He decided to extend an olive branch of sorts. He didn't do apologies but he could, at least, stop baring his teeth at Eames. Temporary truce. "Considering Nash, I wouldn't be surprised if I were the first," he joked.

"There were more capable men before your Nash came along, I'm certain. Not to mention off world thieves who'd love a chance to undermine local operations."

Arthur filed each bit of new information away, building a better picture of how the black markets worked out here. He had textbook knowledge, an intimate understanding of the law, but the in-fighting, the details, the _people_ that had been beyond his scope on Ariel. "No honor among thieves, I see." Then, with carefully feigned nonchalance, "Was any of it true, that night?"

"Was what true, what I told you? As far as I remember, yeah. I doubt it was much use, any of it, unless you've developed a way to track people by their small hobbies and opinions on the war."

"Of course not," Arthur said, then added dryly, "that my ride landed only moments before yours, and I happened to require your expertise was _entirely_ coincidental." He smiled as though he knew something Eames didn't, unable to resist. Eames squinted at him as he handed back the file, clearly taking him at least a little seriously.

His pad signaled a notification and Arthur pulled it out of his briefcase, skimming over the message.

"The package arrived, it's on the way to my hotel," Arthur said, already preparing to leave, "So, would you care to inspect the goods, Mr. Eames?" That had sounded significantly less awful in his head, but he decided to make it seem intentional rather than have Eames consider it some Freudian slip, "You always did like me better in hotel rooms."

If nothing else, Eames following him up to his hotel would give credence to the idea Eames was looking to buy or smuggle the merchandise.

"I wasn't aware there was an always, Mr. Arthur. I might have missed that particular memo. But keep at it and you will actually get to see first hand how little honor there is among thieves." Eames grinned. "After you."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Christ, he was in trouble if they were taunting each other with blatant innuendos. Best to end it now, because Arthur was not about to make a habit of sleeping with Eames whenever they crossed paths.

He led the way down the gangplank and towards a rented speeder. He hopped in the driver's side and waited for Eames before heading for the cheap hotel Nash had specified. It was just past the docks, according to the maps Arthur had consulted before arriving.

"Why 'Rook'?" Arthur asked, heeding Eames’ advice and being direct about his curiosity. The more he knew the better, even if the information seemed trivial.

"Because she's full of surprises," Eames answered, propping a knee up on the glove compartment, sliding down a little in the seat as if he didn’t want to be seen as they drove. Arthur didn’t comment on the strange posture. It wasn’t his speeder. "You'd think she’s just a plain old carrier, but put her in a tight corner and she'll come through where you don't expect." Eames shrugged. "Also I named her first, then made that up. Doesn't make it any less true."

A faint smile pulled at the corners of Arthur’s mouth. "It's the Trace Compression Block, best engine out there for its size, I don't know why they've opted for Gurstler engines these days, the power just isn't there unless you can fit five or six in and then you need a massive coolant system."

"So it is," was Eames’ answer besides a curious look and soon the hotel crept into view, a sprawling, one level building with a few more scattered around in blocks. Arthur pulled around and parked, killing the engine and making his way to the front entrance. He actually had to manually open the door but he stepped in and pushed it open a little farther so Eames had enough time to walk through.

When Arthur asked for his reservation which should have been under the name Milton, the receptionist only gave his screen a blank look before shaking his head. There was nothing under that name. He couldn’t pay for it with the card he had been given because the Milton account was not activated either.

Fucking Nash.

Arthur dragged a laughing Eames out of the reception area, fuming even as he found the door for room 23. This was where the drop was going to be and they needed to get in.

Eames sighed once he stopped laughing. "I don't know what you were expecting. I wouldn't exactly be surprised if your folks'd been bribed to make things difficult for you."

Arthur's skin prickled. "What, exactly, do you mean by that?" The plan was shit, but if there were even more stacked against them...

"I mean exactly what I said. You know, nasty people who pay the good coppers money so they can do all sorts of nasty business without getting caught doing it? They don't pay the police force here very well, either, you know," he said as he fished something out of his pocket and neared the window. "So I can't say I would be surprised if that's what you have on your hands."

"Do you think it's just a bribe to prevent all federal operations, or does someone know I'm here?" Not that either option was good, but one was significantly better than the other. Eames just shrugged, concentrating on the window latch. He leaned up against the wall casually, doing his best to block Eames from view without looking as though he were. The window was open in seconds, lights in the room automatically turning on and revealing it empty. He hummed as the window opened before peering inside, not quite sure if this was an impressive feat or a sad display of security.

Unfortunately, the interior door handle was out of arm's reach. Arthur glanced around quickly for witnesses and found none.

Arthur gracefully climbed through, landing on his feet with a muted thump before opening the door for Eames.

"The first is more likely but you're in deep trouble if it's the second," Eames said, walking in nonchalantly and belatedly answering Arthur’s question. As if he hadn’t been staring at his ass. Not even the perpetually emoting poker face could hide that."You should probably keep a low profile at least until it's close to drop time. Would be unfortunate to be found out by your average concierge," he said as he commandeered the bed.

"I'll be right back," Arthur said as he opened his suitcase and retrieved his pad, "... stay out of my suitcase and don't make a sound while I make this call."

Eames probably knew better but Arthur was determined to keep Nash in the dark about him. He left Eames on the bed, not terribly worried if he did end up pawing through his clothes, and let himself into the small bathroom so he could get enough light to actually send a wave.

Unsurprisingly, Nash didn't pick up. Arthur made a second and third attempt before giving up and storming out of the bathroom.

He considered finding a spot for himself anywhere other than the bed, but then decided if he'd already slept with Eames it was a strange time to develop personal boundaries so he sat at the edge and tried to access the Milton account.

"There's a hold on the account, apparently Nash only opened it late yesterday and there's a strict twenty-four hour wait." Arthur gave in and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I cannot believe this... 廢物 is in charge."

And Arthur had no issues with authority, no problems with the chain of command, but this level of incompetence was fucking deadly, apparently. And there was nothing he could do about it. He was just supposed to sit in the scantily lit room with Eames until the mule tapped out the code and they opened the window to accept the package.

Arthur didn't even want to think about it anymore, he felt cagey and tense as fuck which was no way to operate but he didn't know how to wind down in this situation. Eames was saying something which culminated in a hand between his shoulder blades and "Love, maybe you should step outside for a tick, take some deep breaths? I'm afraid I'm not exactly qualified to treat coronaries."

Arthur stiffened impossibly further at the touch, and snapped, "No, I don't need fresh air. I need to figure out how to make this piss-poor plan even remotely feasible."

Eames raised his hands defensively. "Freaking out isn't helping with the planning, Arthur."

But it wasn't Eames fault and they had raked over and adjusted the plan as much as they could with what they currently knew. He inhaled deeply.

"Have you done deals with Badger before?" Arthur asked, after a pause. He figured there wasn't much else to do, and a detailed first-hand account couldn't hurt.

"Yeah. He usually has plans set up, or knows someplace where you could get goods and will have a potential buyer ready by the time you're back with it. I'm not sure where exactly he gets his info from but it's typically good, plus or minus some stamping. You don't exactly have the means to have him come to you, given you're not filthy rich, so you're going to have to walk in. And convince him whatever that is that fits through a window is good enough for him to take up the job. Like we said, you could name drop but you're going to have to convince him."

Arthur mulled it over, it wasn't anything terribly new, but more information was better. The thought that Badger was not a major criminal worth sending him out to fetch niggled at him, in the back of his mind. And now that Eames' hand was gone, Arthur found he, bizarrely enough, missed the warmth.

"Back on Ariel," Arthur began, "did you alter the hospital's security feed?"

There was, again, nothing else to do. Even Arthur wasn't interested in hearing more of the same about Badger. He could ask what Badger might be interested in, but Arthur had no control of what illicit article he received. Plus, there was always a chance Eames would give him something he could use to reopen the theft case and redeem himself. Eames had said he should ask what he wanted to know.

"What does that-" Eames cut himself off and squinted. "I don't know, is one of your hobbies digging in cold cases? As much as I like you, which isn't much, I don't exactly want to spend the rest of my life on a penal moon, thanks."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have stolen the medicine!" Arthur's lips thinned into a tight grimace. "I can count on my hand the number of cases I haven't solved, I review them once every year," he said, trying and failing miserably at making conversation. The question-answer formula had worked once but maybe that had more to do with alcohol. And that the questions hadn't risked Eames' well-being. He averted his eyes, staring at the wall in silence for a time, and a different, more self-loathing, tension seeped into his muscles and bones. He wouldn't apologize, but he was too embarrassed to try asking even an innocuous question.

This could end up a long wait.

Eames sighed and leaned back onto his hands, staring at the ceiling. The silence lingered for a bit longer then: "And? Do you ever get anywhere? You work theft and embezzlement and the like. They're long gone if the cases are cold, money spent to the wind. You don't have to beat yourself up over it. It's not very useful."

Arthur turned to look at him, and then huffed. He wondered how Eames did it, or when he became so transparent. "That's easy to say when you can run away from your mistakes," he sniped, but then regretted it. His first defense had always been good offense, even against people that weren't trying to hurt him.

Or maybe Eames was, God, who could tell? Soft, soothing tones did not mean sincerity. "I had something on a guy named Fischer, once, a few years back and now it might be happening again. Same patterns cropping up. So, no, it's not useless to go over cold cases." Arthur kept the bite out of it, left it a dry explanation. Eames didn't know his world anymore than Arthur knew his after all.

"Sure," Eames allowed and sat up. "If I make a mistake, I do have to bail as soon as possible, but that's the line of work. Even if I don't make a mistake I need to run. I'm used to it. But you think all - or a couple - of your unsolved cases are connected to one man? The Moriarty to your Sherlock Holmes?"

With Eames suddenly upright, Arthur realized just how close they were. Then he reminded himself the bed was small, and there was nothing to do or read into about it. Arthur was mildly surprised at the interest, his pursuit of Fischer Morrow was usually treated with either dismissal or incredulity. "Eames, you stole approximately a million credits worth of medication, Fischer could be sitting on two point six billion in various tax evasions and fraud. Insurance scams, retirement schemes, insider trading. Fischer Morrow is just shy of a monopoly, and Maurice Fischer is fucking untouchable. I was close once, and everything was pinned on some goddamn CEO, who stepped down to be replaced by some other asshole."

"Okay, so he can, I was kidding. But you said signs? I'm guessing it's not just money randomly going missing, so you're going to have to elaborate, darling. All I know is that Fischer Morrow is an energy conglomerate, they're the people you buy your gas and electricity from. I don't exactly keep track of corporate movement."

"It is that simple, the numbers don't match." Arthur explained, doing his best to avoid jargon that Eames wouldn't understand, "Employment is down, but payroll is up? Profit has been down the last three quarters, but no one has stopped using power. And the auditor we hired? He was wearing a _very_ nice watch while we were at dinner." Arthur let that settle, then continued, "Last time it happened, Fischer needed assets to seize Cobol Engineering. I don't know what he's after now, but it might be Proclus, they've got a project going to redesign fuel cells which could spell trouble for Fischer."

"Isn't Cobol one those cutthroat companies that use any means necessary?"

"Ruthless," Arthur answered, "but they paid their fines on time, and corporate espionage is very easy to dismiss as the unsanctioned actions of various underlings looking to get ahead." In truth, Arthur felt he may have played a role in what finally allowed Fischer to buy them out. He'd pursued them doggedly, ensured any slight misdeed was charged. Between the fines and the legal fees and the loss of public favor from the numerous scandals he'd had a hand in uncovering, the news they were looking to sell hadn't surprised him. After Fischer bought them, Arthur realized he was only moving the pieces in seemingly endless game.

They sank into silence again but a edgy one. Arthur wasn't comfortable as the only one displaying vulnerability and mistakes, so he dared to ask, "Why did you stop speaking to your father?"

Eames seemed taken aback by the question, frowning. "No reason in particular. Guess I failed him from the start, lost a war, took up a life of crime, the works, but at least I'd visit when mum was still around. It made her happy which was at least something in his books. Now I'm not really good for much around there so I don't go and he doesn't call me back. Frankly I don't know if the old man's still alive. Someone'd probably call if he wasn't, so I guess he is."

Arthur fell silent. He didn't know what to say, because while his parents were dead, he'd never thought they were anything less than proud. "I'm sorry," he said finally, then, "what was she like?"

"No need to be sorry, just the way things are. And, ah, well, my mum, she... Well, she didn't know right from wrong sometimes it seemed. Not according to my dad. I'd get into fights, I'd get tattoos, I'd smoke like an engine, I got into stealing and no matter what she'd sit me down the the dinner table every time I came home, pat my head and feed me soup. And each time I'd feel more guilty than anything my dad could ever say." Eames paused there, ducking his head and raking his fingers through his hair. "Of course she also named me... Well, we don't speak of that ever. Shouldn't have even been in the landing permit."

"I did wonder about that," Arthur said coolly, and then unsure what else to say, "she sounds... lovely." And while part of him wanted to hear more, most of him didn't want to push Eames too far. "What was your first tattoo?"

"That would be... That would tell you where I'm from, darling, and I don't think I quite trust you that far yet, what with your penchant of reopening closed cases. Not to mention you haven't done much answering, if we're still playing that old game. So since you're prying, tell me about your parents, Arthur. If you want."

Arthur furrowed his brow, he couldn't recall any tattoos that had particular regional ties, but then, he hardly remembered anything of that night in great detail, and he wouldn't know an Outer Rim symbol or its meaning if he saw one. "I don't," Arthur said quickly, "because I have been answering your questions." Then, heavy on sarcasm, "And if the game is such a problem for you, we can sit in silence, unless you have a better idea."

"You've been answering all of my rhetorical questions, I've noticed, yes." Eames shook his head, smiling this time as if it was he who knew something Arthur didn’t. "God forbid I lilt the last syllable on a sentence, too. But it's not a problem with me, not really. Although I have plenty of other ideas." He grinned cheekily. "You know how I always like you best in hotel rooms and all."

Arthur frowned, largely unamused by the implication. Though, if Arthur had believed it were anything but a taunt he might have gone for it. Just to see the tattoo, of course. "I believe I said 'better' Mr. Eames, and frankly I don't remember enjoying the sex." Which had the unfortunate implication that he had enjoyed the conversation, and, well, he had. Whether it was the accent, or the cadence, or the content, or a combination, listening to Eames had been far more interesting and engaging than a good majority of Arthur's recent social calls. Eames was clever without overstating it, he didn't need to inflate his words or recant someone else's stories. He was open and closed all at once and Arthur had always enjoyed paradoxes. But Eames didn't need to know any of that, because Arthur also disliked him, on principle if nothing else.

"Of course you don't remember it. You've only been taunting me with it this whole afternoon. Making up for something you figure I saw, are we?"

Arthur scoffed and realized his tact of meeting Eames' comments with sharper ones was not having the desired effect. "You're the one who has 'plenty of ideas,' if I left you unsatisfied that night, it's only because it was good enough to want _more_ ," Arthur leveled, voice deeper than intended. It might have helped to know who did what to whom, for specificity's sake; he wasn't picky about where he ended up, after all.

"I think you might be a might overestimating your performance under the influence, darling," Eames edged on.

"Still better than yours, I'm certain," Arthur shot back. "My father was born on Ariel and my mother grew up on Bernadette, he taught me how to read, she taught me how to use a sword. Satisfied? Tell me about your second or third tattoo then," he challenged. Eames had gotten his answer, Arthur still felt he deserved one in return. He was reasonably certain he could narrow his search enough, even with the little he had, to come up with more information once he was back on Ariel. He doubted there were a great many Eameses born on ships between 25 and 35 years ago with embarrassing names and a military record. It was something to do in his spare time, at any rate.

Eames rolled his eyes. "If you insist. Let me think, oh yes. The second one would be the masks," he traced his finger thoughtfully around a perimeter on his right pectoral. Arthur swallowed. "'Laugh Now, Cry Later,' I'm sure you will find that in character. Then there's the dragon of our system, all around here," he smoothed the fabric around his left bicep. "I do favor dragons, as you might have noticed."

It was hardly fair when Arthur could picture them, and Eames was running his hands over them, and that stupid fucking mouth and that smug voice. The worst part was that he had brought it on himself, asking after them, knowing how fully aware Eames was of his less-than-innocent interest. And here Arthur sat, at a crossroads.

He should get up and end this... posturing, but everything in him wanted to meet the gauntlet thrown. Except he had no inkling as to what Eames liked, so he tried for unbothered and hoped Eames didn't see right through him.

"I can't say that I did, you seem to have trouble with the fact I barely remember you."

"I don't know, darling, you seem to assume some things and insist you're ignorant of the others. Arthur, Arthur, you need to learn to get your story straight or make more believable leaps of logic at the least."

"Your mistake is thinking I don't know myself, Mr. Eames, that I don't know _exactly_ what I can do with my body, intoxicated or not." He shifted his position to face Eames more directly with one leg, bent at the knee, on the bed and his other still on the edge. "But, so far, all I've gotten from you are implications with nothing to back them up. You may talk a good game, but until I see it..."

Arthur told himself he was only attempting to call Eames' bluff, that leaning in meant nothing, and that his eyes trailing over Eames were simply another part of the ploy.

"I haven't implied a thing I couldn't support." Eames’ eyes flickered down to follow Arthur's movements, lingering enough to be obvious. Arthur should have ended things right there, it should have disturbed him, but it didn't so he didn't. Instead his heartbeat fluctuated and the tempo kicked up, above resting but below racing. "But if you are in possession of such clear and objective information about yourself, through whom do you vicariously relive the bits you can't remember? And what typically happens during such times? I would dearly like to know, it seems like a useful skill." He trailed off, raising his eyebrows, lifting his eyes to Arthur's face.

"Are you asking after my fantasies, now? Hoping for tips? Because it sounds like you're asking me to talk dirty, and I don't see why I should."

Arthur forced himself to meet Eames' eyes, though those were hardly any better than his mouth, and when had they gotten so goddamn close? But moving back would mean losing, and Arthur didn't want to move in the first place, and for a moment that was confusing, making him falter.

"Oh, you don't have to say anything, darling, since I think I already know." Eames shifted before bringing the distance between them abruptly down to none, brushing their lips together.

Arthur's mouth parted more in surprise than anything else, but then he caught up and nipped at Eames' lower lip. God help him, they were as soft as they looked, and he had a vague recollection of Eames biting at his lips back on Ariel, and Arthur couldn't help but reach for that coat and escalate this game further. Maybe he'd get a glimpse at that first tattoo and he could justify this, or maybe he wouldn't and he would tell himself it was just unresolved tension from that night. Fuck everything, Eames was just a physically attractive person and Arthur sort of liked him and sort of hated him, and he'd been goaded into this, and it wasn't like anyone would ever find out Arthur slept with a conman twice.

He was still going to arrest him the moment he was able, but in the mean time he could rid Eames of his coat. And Eames let him, immediately starting to work on untying Arthur’s tie and popping the buttons beneath it, scooting a little bit closer on the bed.

Arthur had to stop for breath, which came out in quiet pants only a hair's breadth away before he shifted his attention to Eames neck, determined to leave a mark. He bit gently, and then laved over it, tasting warmth and salt and listening to Eames’s soft groan. With nimble fingers he began to remove Eames' shirt as well, venturing to touch skin in quick abortive movements as he did. As though Eames might tell him to stop event though his fingers were at Arthur’s tie again.

His heart stopped at the sound of three sharp raps against the window followed by two lighter ones. Shit. The package. What had he been thinking? He twisted away, springing to his feet in the same smooth movement, and gestured for Eames to stay out of sight, though he didn't have time to ascertain whether or not Eames followed the instruction.

Arthur swiftly crossed the room and carefully lifted the window, causing the lights to flood back on and allowing a woman in a track suit to pass him a dingy rucksack. She kept jogging without a word and Arthur hastily shut the window with his free hand.

His heart started beating again, pounding even, and he dared to turn and find out if Eames had been in plain sight for the brief exchange. The idiot was sitting, clearly winded, on the floor by the bed where he could have easily been seen. Rising to Eames' bait had been a terrible lack of foresight on Arthur's part. He brought the bag to the bed and promptly did up his buttons and straightened his tie, though he considered redoing it entirely before discarding the idea as unnecessary. Arthur forced his breathing into something even and told himself that it could not and would not happen again. His face grew carefully neutral, detached and he swiftly undid the the fastenings and opened the sack.

He drew out dark lock box, a few centimeters longer than his forearm then punched in the code and popped the lid, peering inside to find an antique music box. The panels were done in white and opalescent mosaic, the rest in light wood - chestnut if Arthur remembered his lessons - the legs delicately curved.

"Is this something Badger would sell?" Arthur said, pure business, without looking at Eames. Avoidance was probably his best shot. If he didn't speak to Eames for any reason beyond what was required, or look at Eames for more than the three seconds it took to detail where he was, or think about Eames, period, he might make it through this mess without doing something grossly inappropriate. Some _one_ grossly inappropriate. If it weren't for the fact he needed the item appraised he would have sent Eames from the room entirely, at least until Arthur pieced himself back together properly. Until his guard was firmly in place and the memory of Eames' lips weren't such a phantom against his own. For now, withdrawal, lest Eames distract him again.

Eames just cleared his throat behind him and reached for the box to weigh it in his hands. "Hm," he said smartly looking at it closely in the dim lighting. "Would you look at this piece of pretty... It isn't Earth-That-Was, so wherever did they get real chestnut..?"

"Could be synthetic? And chestnut didn't go extinct until 2367, contrary to popular belief, " Arthur corrected, watching Eames closely for an indication he might break, or steal it.

"Still, that’s a fair while ago. I take back what I said about incompetence, this is a fine piece of merchandise." Eames put it back down and attempted to twist the handle so it played. The box remained silent.

"I think he might feign some ignorance, but there’s no reason he wouldn't earn a pretty penny for this." He brushed a little bit of dust off the lid before opening it, running his fingers all along the inside and under the mechanisms. "Good work on the tracker, too..." When he thought Eames had been given enough time to inspect it, Arthur held out his palm in a wordless demand. With his other hand he slid his pad closer from where he'd left it on the bed and began searching for famous music boxes on the off chance this was one of them.

He tried a few different keywords, but so far hadn't come across anything with more than a passing similarity. It might have been a Sheehan or a Barrett, or a very early Yi, but that was as close as Arthur could get in such a short amount of time.

"I don't like that we can't test the tracker," Arthur admitted, belatedly realizing the 'we' and tightening his lips in grim annoyance. This was his operation, and while Eames was a valuable consult his interest wasn't nearly as vested as Arthur's, and it was important to remember that.

"And not if you want to call your buddies up immediately, no… There'll be no need to test it if they don't suspect you. They'll check for the obvious signs, but putting it through an i-beam might damage the metal inside even more and there's no real need if they trust you enough. There's always a signal-proof box but they have to show it off to the buyer somehow and I don't remember Badger to be that cautious." Arthur inclined his head, indicating that he heard Eames and little more. An equipment check was standard procedure, and Arthur preferred his checks to anyone else's. He'd do his part, though, and if it failed his superiors might consider removing Nash. Carefully, he locked the music box back up and stored it inside the rucksack.

"You ought to get in touch with your contacts to see if we use Lee Yao as incentive," he started, hands resting on the last strap, and tried to determine whether letting Eames out of his sight was actually a tactically sound move. Eames could leave, Arthur had no authority to put a landlock on Rook and if he requested one it would cast suspicion on Eames.

"Do you have a pad or a comm?" If Eames did, he might be able to twist his arm into making a call every hour or Arthur would send in a report of identity fraud. It would also mean giving Eames his contact information, and while he doubted Eames would want to keep in touch, the knowledge that he _could_ send him waves at various hours of the night, just to irritate him, was not appealing.

Eames tilted his head. "I did, unfortunately, have to make that investment. I can't exactly give out a ship radio to every asshole I work with on planet so I can keep track of them. They'd make off with enough to make getting a comm far easier." He dug in his pocket for it, sighing and handing it over for Arthur to examine.

It was only a step up from something Arthur might get for an octogenarian, the quip about essentially stealing a million credits and still owning something as cheap as what Arthur now held in his hands formed easily, but he thought better of it. As Eames pointed out, more expensive meant more notice, and it seemed in good condition. And truthfully, it was only cheap in comparison to Arthur's own possessions and resources.

Dutifully, he added himself, and then he thrust the comm back into Eames hands before he could be accused of tampering. "I want a call every hour, you have a five minute window in case something comes up, but you will call. I don't care if you have to fake polyuria, if you don't call I will send the fraud report. Are we clear?"

"So needy, darling," Eames grinned, pocketing the device. "Every hour, on the hour," he agreed, laughing. "When are you planning on stepping into the ring, then?"

Arthur sat down on the bed, drawing his pad closer and utilizing both hands to type out more specific searches. "After the Milton account is accessible. For now, I'll focus on the market value of the music box and try contacting Nash."

He left out the search he was going to run on Eames, and hoped his poker face held as he concentrated on the stream of useless information on music boxes dancing across his screen. "It's no good trying to socialize if I can't buy myself a drink, and I'll still need to check in here. I'll let you know when I'm heading out." He would need to meet Eames at some watering hole he could find in order to carry on the notion that Eames was interested in the box but he wasn’t planning on keeping him any longer than necessary from whatever the man had come to Persephone to do.

Arthur dared to look up at Eames sternly. "Every hour, then we'll meet back here and discuss the plan in more detail."

"Oh, after _that_ 's accessible... That's going to take... A while. I'm looking forward to see you socialize. Well, you tell me, then. Whenever you're ready." Eames headed out, closing the door behind himself.

Arthur was not a stranger to being left alone in a small space for hours at a time, he'd done his time as a minor field agent, stakeouts included so six hours was hardly worth mentioning. He'd gotten precisely nowhere on Eames, it turned out it wasn't as rare a surname as he'd hoped and the sixty some odd names, one hundred and seventy if Eames' opinion on what constituted a terrible name was meaningless, couldn't be narrowed down any further.

The music box, he was relatively certain at this point, was a Sheehan, probably worth somewhere between fifteen to twenty thousand if the chestnut was authentic. He had gotten in touch with Nash and sorted out the room, which meant he could have the lights on. All the better as night approached.

Arthur would have called the set up smooth, if Eames hadn't been as obnoxious as possible, only trying harder to irritate when Arthur didn't react. He was certain the time Eames kept the comm pointed to the floor of a dirty bathroom was for no other reason than to prove he was an absolute dick, and to make Arthur regret the fact he'd decided every hour. So when the account cleared and Arthur readied himself, shaving and washing up primarily, the call to Eames was quick.

"Blue Elephant, twenty minutes." End call.

He stowed the bag before he went, fitting it inside the hotel safety box. Not that he particularly trusted it, but it was as good a place as any. More secure than under the bed, at any rate. He opted not to take the speeder, the point was to be seen. People would talk about a sharp-dressed gentleman in Eavesdown, he imagined. And the more Badger thought he knew, the more comfortable he would probably feel. The weather was nice enough for a walk anyway.

The Blue Elephant was a mid-sized Thai bar and grille, not quite seedy, but skirting it. There was no wait when he entered, a little too early for the night crowd and a little too late for the dinner rush, and took up a seat on the vinyl-cushioned stool that gave him the best vantage of the entrance. He'd play the novice with the bartender, someone Nash confirmed was on the inside, and hope he put him in touch with the right people.

"Well, hello, there Mr. Milton. You’re looking well," Eames said when he arrived, a bit to Arthur’s surprise. Arthur frowned, ever so slightly, and then realized in his haste to ring off, he had not actually bothered to explain he was only alerting Eames to the fact he was leaving the hotel. Arthur decided it was still more Eames fault for being so intolerable in the first place.

He could improvise though, and he smiled politely as he would have to any business associate. A few heads had perked at the sight of Eames and the familiar greeting. It easily could have been how boisterous he was, but Arthur dared to hope that they recognized him.

And fucking hell. Was that the hickey he left? He finished off the gin and tonic he ordered and decided he was probably done drinking. Not that he had planned on much more, and if he considered it, at least here they weren't forced to sit on the bed as they discussed matters.

"I think I preferred the bathroom tile," Arthur commented dryly when Eames was close enough to hear him mutter it.

"I knew you'd enjoy that touch. Found the nastiest places just for you, darling," Eames let a little frustration seep into his voice, rubbing at his neck when he sat down. "I actually had to stand around in it though. The things I do for you," he added on, sparing a glance to the drink Arthur had just finished and ordering a beer for himself.

"It was minor payback for all the questions I've been getting about the lucky lady. I made sure to tell them I was sneaking off to call her every hour, though." Arthur grimaced at even inadvertently being referred to as Eames' lucky lady. It was anything but luck that allowed for that lapse in judgement.

"Don't worry, won't happen again." The only acknowledgement he'd given of what they'd started. He switched his drink to just tonic and cast an eye around. No one was currently paying attention, even the man tending bar was focused elsewhere, probably the pretty young thing with blonde hair.

"I thought you were going to go socialize or whatever the hell else you meant by heading out. Unless of course you felt like you needed some help?"

"I meant I was going to spread the word I was looking to sell something, if you think I'd willing seek out a place like this when I could continue working," he whispered, on the more vicious side, "then you're a poor judge of character. And no, I don't need help, but since you are here, play along and make sure the bartender catches that you're interested in what I have."

He ripped off a corner of his napkin and pulled out a pen to write out the value of the music box, as well as the type. Arthur placed it in Eames hand, and leaned in, mouth to Eames' ear, "Try to act like we're negotiating, whatever it is you'd normally do to a naive, wealthy, off-worlder with something you want," he whispered, ignoring the way his breath wanted to hitch and that he'd inhaled much deeper than he meant to. For the six hours Eames spent in the cesspools of Persephone, he smelled remarkably decent.

"Well for starters you look like you're giving me your comm number, mostly because the information about the box I can remember very well verbally especially if it's supposed to be impressive," Eames said softly, before grinning and bringing Arthur's hand up to his lips, looking immensely amused, narrating: "I'm flattered by your interest, of course, but it's best to stick to business, no? For the record, it's probably a bad idea to give it out to people at all. In person meetings are much less iffy." It was one of those sickening moments, because on Ariel that's how Arthur had caught a number of illicit transactions-- a small leaf of paper passed from one gentleman to another, or gentlewoman. But out here was so radically different that all at once Arthur was assaulted by both homesickness and a sense of inadequacy. He shoved both feelings aside and compartmentalized. He was not going to feel inferior to Eames, even if he had to defer to him and let him parody prince charming. Arthur barely resisted the urge to rip his hand away, and he was certain Eames felt the reflexive twitch.

He had continued, a touch louder, dropping Arthur's hand, "Of course I can offer you a much higher price than that, darling." He stuck the now useless piece of paper in his pocket. "You can shop around all you like but most people would rather rob you of both goods and money, especially something that unique. Of course you don't have to make your decision final and right now, but it would make it that much easier for the both of us." They definitely had the bartender's attention though, the spot on the counter he was in the process of wiping down was significantly closer. Then Eames was pouring the charm back on, and it took every remaining ounce of Arthur's not inconsiderable restraint to let him grab his elbow as he leaned close in an effort to look conspiratorial. He wanted to ask what happened to just business, but instead he let himself be momentarily impressed by Eames' effortless slide between different personas.

"Oh and, yes, Lee Yao and Badger are absolutely not on talking terms, but whatever happened was worse than usual. Might be more or less guards in the den, depending on how many men were lost and on which side. And I hope you were trying to pass for gullible, because that impression is a success and you are going to be just the man of the hour tonight." He straightened again and grinned as if he'd said something related to the deal they were apparently striking, patting Arthur's elbow fondly. "It's your choice of course." Arthur licked his lips, one of the easier nervous ticks to fake, and cleared his throat.

"When do you need to know?" he asked, hoping Eames would think to make it a quick sell. But then, maybe Badger wouldn't allow himself to be rushed. Leaving Eames in control was tying his stomach into knots, and he fervently hoped he'd made the right call.

"I would hope by the end of this evening, but tomorrow morning shall be the latest. I'm on a bit of a tight schedule, you know, time is money and all that sort of thing." Eames took another spirited sip of his beer, smile never faltering. "Well, love, you know how to find me if you need to. Otherwise I'm afraid I must be going." He finished his beer, putting payment down on the counter and standing. "Hopefully I shall see you later. Ta." He made sure to brush shoulders but didn't look back as he exited.

Only moments after Eames' departure, the bartender moved in to tell Arthur about Badger, and the benefits of selling to him over Eames. Apparently, there was more animosity, or at least competition between the two than Eames' expressed.

Arthur stuck around a bit, but paid his tab after someone spilled a drink on him in an effort to strike up a conversation. He walked back quickly, the night had taken a turn for the colder, and slipped his keycard in the slot. His hand went for his concealed weapon the second his eyes registered a figure on the bed.

"You should have said you were heading back to the room," Arthur said, relaxing after ascertaining it was only Eames. He entered the room and shut the door behind him. "I have a meeting with Badger, early tomorrow morning, by the way." It was almost said with gratitude, but Eames had been too much of an asshole for Arthur to actually thank him, he carried on straight to business, "It's too soon for me to claim I spoke with Lee Yao, I'll have to use you."

He was tired, and he wanted to change his shirt, but he needed to make sure this deal with Badger went seamlessly.

Eames checked his watch and raised his eyebrows. "That was quick," he yawned out and sat up on the bed, stretching his arms. "Of course I was half expecting you to be frogmarched here to sell immediately which is why I'm even around." He gave an abortive shrug. "Alas my infamy soars to new heights," he laughed, smoothing his hair. "It was the bartender, wasn't it? Mm, of course... I would have told you but you made it a bit difficult to do so in character, stiff as you are. In any case, I'm assuming you want to go over our brilliant plan?" The phrase was half sarcastic.

He drew out a light tee and grey silk pants, because hell if he was going to stand around in alcohol soaked clothes when he didn't need to. "It was, and I do," Arthur said, heading for the bathroom, "after I've taken a shower." He could hardly be shy about sleepwear considering Eames had probably seem him in less, and though he would have preferred to remain in a suit while Eames was around, it wasn't practical.

He made it quick and perfunctory, stepping out of the bathroom before it even had time to steam up. He tried to prevent any comments regarding his youthful appearance now that his hair wasn't slicked back and he was dressed casually by diving straight into the questions. Eames was clearly floundering as it was. "First, does Badger want a hard or soft sell? And does Milton being an amateur make this sale easier or harder?"

Arthur opted to lean against the adjacent wall, joining Eames on the bed seemed to cause more problems than it was worth, though the distance might become an issue later.

Eames cleared his throat, deigning to pick his jaw up off the floor and starting to talk.

Arthur filed all the information that was useful away, and he frowned in thought as he tried to come up with something he could say or do that would convince Badger to handle it personally. He let out a tired breath, almost a sigh. "How am I going to convince him?" Arthur didn't consider himself a terrible actor, but he couldn't say he was a good one, and he needed someone good or Badger would see right through him. He wasn't sure what would seem too soft, or what might reveal he knew too much.

"Can't say. Pushing the price might help, might not. Easiest would be attach it so some sort of sentimentality for him, but I don't have that sort of info." Eames shrugged, considering it. "You'd have to watch his reaction to the box and try to spin a story based on that. Otherwise, I doubt it can be pushed without arousing suspicion."

The look Arthur gave at the suggestion he weave a narrative that might appeal to Badger was a skeptical one at best. "Eames, try to remember I'm not a fucking con artist," he said, hating to admit a failing so he soaked it in condescending vitriol. It was, in no small part, built up aggravation as well.

"Really, I never would have guessed."

Arthur sighed. "Walk me through the layout, and the guards. If this thing goes south, I want an exit strategy." Arthur said, burying his insecurity.

Eames tilted his head, remembering but continued in a fair amount of detail. Arthur went for his pad, doing up a quick sketch based on Eames' description. "Sounds like the left exit is the better option, how sure are you that it leads to the docks though?" He walked over to the bed and showed the rough drawing to Eames once he finished, "Like that? What about other furnishings? I want as detailed a layout as possible." This felt more his element; the processes of planning a contingency settled him enough to let the hostility ebb.

"That looks about right," Eames nodded, adding in the smaller details as he talked. "I only assume it leads to the docks because that's the way all the poor buggers doomed to the slave trade are sent and the faster they get shipped out the less chance of discovery. Otherwise..." He sketched in a desk and bookshelves, an extra room.

Arthur found he had limited options, they could continue to awkwardly pass his tablet back and forth, he could loom over Eames - that was a little too suggestive - he could kneel at Eames' knee - that was worse - or he could sit next to him. It was the most reasonable option and Arthur felt he'd made his disinterest, or perhaps unwillingness was a better term, known. If he didn't sit beside Eames at this point, the smug bastard would probably assume it was because Arthur felt he wouldn't be able to resist him. Arthur decided it was best to prove he could, in fact, keep his hands to himself so he took a seat, glancing at the additions.

Arthur would have to give Badger credit, what he lacked in true strategic positioning he made up for with numbers and a lack of hiding places. At least the entrances were only curtained, if he ducked and used the lock box as a shield he might have a slight chance. The end result though, was that the deal had better go through. Hopefully, Eames' interest in the music box was enough to expedite the transaction...

"It's a stall. _That_ 's why he wanted to wait until morning, if you leave he doesn't need to decide right away and can pass it off to someone else." Arthur realized abruptly. "屎蛋."

Eames scowled at the screen. "Oh, good, so if I leave, it'll be child's play of a deal for him and if I don't, it'll look suspicious. That's a good situation we have going on."

"The best idea, if you're expecting it to go rotten, is to hang back, given that Badger's not really like to shoot you himself and it puts the guards in an awkward position, besides the one on the couch. And I... Ugh, I forgot to grab the gorramn spare defragmentor anyway, having to answer the comm every hour, so I've got at least half a shoddy excuse, cause I'm not blowing it on purpose..."

Arthur might have felt for Eames if it weren't for the fact he was the one entering the proverbial lion's den in the morning. He almost sniped that if Eames told him he wanted to pick up a defragmentor, Arthur would have reminded him during one of those aforementioned comm calls, but that would have sounded... domestic. Too familiar at the very least. Arthur brushed the thought aside.

"Fucking Nash," Arthur spat instead. If Arthur had been granted even half the equipment a takedown like this normally warranted he'd have a set of earpieces and microphones and Eames could walk him through the sale. "This whole operation is fucking sub-par, at best. I don't see how anyone could have approved this." He knew that, he knew Eames was aware, but it bore repeating.

"Well, we've gotta work with what we have, darling." Eames sighed, doodling a little stick figure into the floor plan. "There's no reason this should go sideways. The only loss is that a beautiful antique goes out into the world of the black market, never to be seen again. Might gain a good load of credits for it, but otherwise..." He shrugged and shook his head, handing the pad back. "If you get the feeling it's going wrong then just back out carefully. There's no harm in running, not if your head is on the line."

Arthur took the pad back, allowing himself a moment to memorize the hasty blueprint. Eames had a point, there was no use in dwelling on what he didn't have. He was here to make this 狗屁 plan work. He had a layout, a solid piece of merchandise.

Eames looked up to the ceiling again. "A family heirloom isn't too far fetched, but casts suspicion on you if they do find the tracker. You could have inherited it from a well to do client after their untimely passing, as the only thing that wasn't in the will. Of course why it didn't go up in auction is a good question. Close relationship, maybe. You look like a fellow who's fond of classical music." He looked at Arthur at that point before blinking rapidly and looking thoughtfully else where. "Why you would sell it though... Perhaps you were in reality simply a gold digger who got close to the client in question hoping to earn something off the estate. Except the will forbids selling it. Which would be cause to go to the black market. All other version are either farfetched or suspicious."

Arthur couldn't help but to be awed with how expertly Eames concocted stories, closing the loopholes seamlessly, within seconds. Only marginally less impressive was the correct guess at Arthur's musical preferences, but he supposed it wasn't much of a stretch that someone from the Central worlds appreciated classical. "And because the previous owner is deceased, no one would be looking for it, so Badger has no cause for concern. That's..." He almost said something flattering about Eames, but he caught himself, "That could work."

He cleared his throat. Eames just had to be smart, and capable, and attractive, and a criminal. And now he was out of things to ask. He'd examined every angle he could conceive of, he had his story, he had his plan, he had as much under control as was possible in this situation, all that was left was the wait. He yawned again, and realized a minor issue.

What would stop Eames from leaving? Arthur didn't trust his word alone, and he couldn't have Eames call him every hour while they tried to sleep. A landlock raised the same problems it did earlier in the day. Eames hadn't seemed terribly interested in Cortex access, and Arthur had no other bargains to offer. The defragmentor could be a lie. Could he keep Eames here late enough that he had to stay the night? Arthur might have to remain alert throughout the night, but if it meant Eames stayed planetside...

"That's given they don't make you produce the will, which they won't because who needs that sort of flappery. If they do, they're grasping at straws," Eames was saying. "It's late and I'm tired. You have your bed here and I'm looking forward to mine." He stood, suppressing the next yawn and adjusting his coat.

"Is that safe?" Arthur asked, scrambling to buy himself some time and keep Eames a bit longer. It kicked in several seconds too late that the question was terrible. Was it safe? Eames was a grown man, a former soldier even, and he was armed. Also, the man had proven he wasn't an idiot, nor needlessly risky, if it wasn't safe he wouldn't be leaving, or he would have left earlier and they would have had this conversation over the comm.

Christ, what was he supposed to say that wouldn't sound like he was asking Eames to stay the night? He didn't think ordering Eames would endear him, and Arthur was suffering through a strange sort of guilt for not trusting him. Regardless of the fact he had every reason not to trust.

"I mean, how well do you know Eavesdown?" he corrected hastily.

Eames was shocked enough by that question to freeze then turn around. "Is it- wha? How well do I know the docks?" His eyebrows climbed even higher than before. "Aw, darling, I never knew you cared," he said, grinning and looking capitally amused. "I should be fine, if there's a bit more chances for bruises and I'm not exactly savoring the idea of walking all the way back. I could potentially break into the room next door, but I would actually like some hot water after a frankly busy day and some heating since nights get cold and all. So even if you can't bear to part with me, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist."

"Eames, if you screw this plan further by getting jumped because you can't be bothered to shower here, I'll finish throttling you myself," Arthur said coldly. "Trust me, there is nothing I would want more than to have you out of my sight, but I can't say that I trust you not to end up dead. What if someone thinks we made the deal and tries to kill you for the music box?" Bluntly, because Eames would see right through anything else, and Arthur wouldn't know the first thing about subtle seduction, nor did he want to follow through with said seduction because, if history were any indication, he absolutely would.

"No one's going to jump me for a music box, Arthur. They'd need to know where I stashed it, first. It's not what I'm had in mind anyway." Eames crossed his arms. "But alright, if I mean so much to you, darling. I'm not sleeping on the floor though."

Arthur could sleep on the floor. He'd slept in less comfortable places and he intended to be reasonably alert through the night anyway.

"Fine," he said and got up, placing his pad on the nightstand then taking the blankets and pillows with him to make the most what little floor space he had. Petty, perhaps, but it was cold and he had ceded enough to Eames who was already in the process of undressing. He started arranging the pillows into something resembling bedding. "Might want to keep your coat." He tossed out, just to be an ass.

"I'm not showering in it, you know," Eames grinned. He tossed the coat on the stripped bed with a yawn, taking off shirt and shoes in preparation for the shower. Arthur caught one glimpse, and instantly averted his eyes away from bare skin. Then he chastised himself, he had a perfectly valid reason to study Eames' tattoos and if Eames were body conscious he would have removed the shirt in the bathroom. The worst he would have faced was more teasing. Squandered opportunity there. Still, it would have felt... indecent. Eames was already heading into the bathroom, shutting the bathroom door behind him and turning on the water.

Arthur nestled in the makeshift bed and realized sleep was going to be harder than he thought. It had been years since he'd slept on anything less than a king-sized mattress and he couldn't find anything approaching acceptable.

It didn’t take long for Eames to finish showering and Arthur made sure not to look up as he heard the door open again. "I don't actually mind sharing," he heard Eames say. "Because like hell are you staying up all night, you have some very involved work to do in the morning. Promise to keep my hands to myself and everything."

Arthur scowled, which probably came across more ridiculous than intimidating from the, in hindsight, childish bedding in the middle of the floor. Eames had a point, and Arthur considered himself more pragmatic than petty. The facts stood that he was nearer to thirty than twenty, and he needed to be at top form in case the worst came to pass.

He rose as gracefully as he could, picking up the pillows and blankets. He masked his humiliation with quick, efficient movements as he made up the bed.

"I knew you'd see it my way, darling." Eames grinned, rescuing his clothes from the bed as Arthur put everything back. "Now everyone even has a pillow to his own self." He turned to fold his things and Arthur then took a moment to actually look at Eames, which he told himself was because he wanted to glean as much information from the tattoos as he could, but really only served to make Arthur feel flushed. Eames was... He was muscular, but not in a strictly cosmetic sense that Arthur was used to. It was earned muscle, muscle that was used for much more than exercise at the local fitness center. Focus, he berated himself and shifted his gaze, lower, which wasn't helping because Eames had the kind of waist Arthur just wanted to wrap his legs around and fuck down. But, he could almost make out a word, the last few letters actually, it looked like an 'oh' or an 'ah', Arthur couldn't quite make them out; Eames had turned now and that light trail of hair leading down... And fuck. He was staring. He tried to clear his throat, but what came out was a vaguely strangled noise. Eames just quirked his eyebrows.

"I'm not sharing a bed with you like that," he said, feigning offense and pretending that undignified sound hadn't been made. Arthur went for his suitcase and drew out a plain shirt - unlike Eames his shirts fit him so it might end up tight - but was certainly better than no shirt. He tossed it at him without so much as a glance and then climbed into the bed, curling up on his side, away from Eames.

"Sharing clothes, too, how domestic," he heard from behind him as Eames turned out the lights.

"Don't talk to me about being domestic, _darling_ ," Arthur sniped, dripping venom. Though, by this time, Arthur wasn't overly bothered by the endearment. It seemed the kind of thing Eames tossed around casually, rather than mockingly. Arthur just needed to make sure Eames understood he wasn't wanted, regardless of the long look and the subsequent vocalization.

"Whatever you say."

Sharing the bed made sleep difficult too, and Arthur was tense again, though in a different way. He was just so damn aware of Eames - his weight on the bed, the breathing, each minute movement, the additional body heat. Arthur tried to bury himself further in the sheets, uncomfortably perched at the very edge of the bed. He was still tired, he was drained, but he wasn't drowsy anymore. He couldn't relax. Between growing flustered and sharing the bed... Antsy, loathsome as the word was, that was the feeling. He shifted unhappily. Maybe once Eames was soundly asleep and Arthur could be sure he wouldn't wake to an empty bed and lost leverage against Badger.

Arthur kept still, he didn't move much in his sleep anyway, and kept his breathing light, near silent and waited for what felt like several minutes. Then he quietly whispered, "Eames?"

"Mmwhat?" was the answering grumble and he felt Eames turning over to the center of the bed.

Damn, Arthur should have given it a few more minutes. Also, he should have considered what he might say if Eames were awake. "Move," he demanded brusquely, "I don't have enough space."

It was only because he'd relegated himself to a sliver of the bed, Eames wasn't taking up more than his share were Arthur inclined to be honest. It wasn't even Eames' fault Arthur felt so hyper-aware, or that his requirements for sleep these days were so stringent. The odd almost-guilt for not trusting Eames returned, rending him further from sleep or even restfulness.

Eames groaned, rolling over a bit. But instead of ignoring Arthur’s admittedly unreasonable request, Arthur felt Eames’ arm wrap around his middle and drag him toward the middle of the bed, making his entire body immediately go rigid. "I know I promised but you never said anything about being fucking impossible, Arthur. Get to sleep, for goddsakes."

Arthur elbowed him on instinct, and then decided he wasn't sorry as he wriggled free and rolled over to face Eames.

"Don't touch me," he seethed, ignoring Eames' complaint entirely. He summoned as much composure as he could, but he was tired and incensed so it wasn't much, "What the fuck makes you think grabbing me is an acceptable thing to do?"

Not that he'd been picky about their boundaries before, but it was time to start drawing lines.

"Because you're acting like a two year old," Eames grumbled, rubbing his ribs. "Too many rules for sleeping, damn it. And I can feel every nerve cluster misfire and twitch as a tremble in the mattress when I could be asleep. So you're going to have to relax, or I am going to make you." It was followed with a yawn. "Going to sleep means letting go, not the gorram opposite way around. Which I'm trying to do here. So if you can save your meltdown for the morning I would be much obliged."

Arthur flickered through several varying shades of offended and indignant, and hissed out, "Here's a fucking clue; violation of personal boundaries is not relaxing."

Fuck Eames. What was he going to do, exactly? Arthur couldn't settle before and he couldn't settle now, and while rationally he knew Eames had a valid point, he did need sleep, the fact that it was _Eames_ just frustrated him more. Another point of contention was that it was entirely Arthur's fault to begin with, he was the one that insisted Eames stay. He should have let the matter drop once he heard the half-formed 'what' when he roused him. Clearly Eames wasn't planning on leaving. But the liberties Eames seemed to take in regards to Arthur's personal space could not be abided.

He rolled back over, signaling he was done discussing the matter and forced himself into preternatural stillness. Make him relax, ha. Arthur would like to see him try.

"Personal boundaries?" Eames snorted from behind him. "Right, fine. One more chance or I'm pinning you bodily to the bed to stop the infernal twitching. Which, by the way, you're still doing no matter how still you think you're being."

"Fuck off, Eames," Arthur retorted, pissed at both Eames' dismissal, though, considering that earlier in the day he'd had Eames' tongue down his throat the dismissal may have had grounds. That only further soured Arthur's mood. "I'm as fucking still as humanly possible. I'm not going to stop breathing, asshole."

He should stop, Arthur knew that. Riling Eames up wasn't going to help matters, and he still had need of him. Eames just had an effect on him, Arthur couldn't let him... win? What was this? Though now that Eames had made an issue of it, Arthur could feel every muscle spasm, every jolt under his skin. Fuck. Worst of all he did, legitimately, want to sleep.

Eames groaned and rolled over again. "Therein lies the problem, love. You're trying to damn hard. Now what did I say about one more chance? It's like you want to be pinned down."

Arthur rolled over on his back too, staring up at the darkness. "I. Can't. Sleep." Arthur bit out, his hostility no longer directed solely at Eames. He'd thought once he knew Eames wouldn't be headed off in the middle of the night, he'd be able to rest, but then the ensuing argument had him awake, and now the fact sleep was so elusive was just another frustration.

He'd had nights like this before, a lot of them actually, nights where sleep was impossible without a sedative. Nightmares usually, but some nights it was just the feeling of being watched, or the sense that something wasn't... right. "It just happens, Eames, sometimes I can't sleep, so just... fuck off." He rolled back over on his side, curling in on himself.

"Well that's the first honest thing I've heard you say in a while. Sequestering yourself to a tiny sliver of mattress isn't going to help with that," Eames said, gentler than before. "Nor is being pissed at me, I can understand not being able to sleep, of all people. Of course I find bed partners to be rather helpful with insomnia through body warmth alone. But you seem to be insisting on boundaries and rules now of all times, so I am at a loss as what to suggest." He punctuated the sentence with yet another yawn.

Arthur yawned moments later, his anger mostly blown out. "You sure it's not the activity beforehand?" he asked, tone hinting at sarcasm but also tinged with curiosity.

"Pretty sure. Not much else works, including exercise, given I try not to make drugs a habit."

"Normally, I take something, but it's too late. I'd need at least ten hours." Arthur said, then after a pause added, bordering apologetic, "I know it's not your fault. I just don't share a bed, with anyone."

"That's quite a pity there, although it does explain the pillow fort. I can recite facts for you if that'll help - you like facts don't you? Except for how I might fall asleep first." Arthur watched the outline of Eames rub his eyes. "Or I don't even know, give you a massage or some rot. Lord knows you need one."

Arthur snorted, caught somewhere between mild offense and amusement. "Do you even know any facts?" He shifted to face Eames, not that it made a difference in the dark, but his sense of Eames was different. "And hands off," he half-growled, then shivered and unconsciously shifted a bit closer.

"I'm offended, darling, I know plenty of facts, fancy schooling or no. Wasn't born yesterday, either. But fine, fine, my hands are tied to suit your needs." A pause. "See, you're already much more relaxed than when you were trying to impersonate a statue. I'm feeling my eyes closing already." He heard Eames yawn again and couldn't help but yawn right along. "You can't see the stars on Hera because Georgia is too bright at night. Almost brighter than the moons of which there are two..."

Arthur’s eyes fell shut as he listened to Eames list of various factoids, mostly about space. Eames had a nice voice, he'd thought that before he was sure, but it remained true. He was a natural storyteller and the image of Eames narrating a book crept to mind unbidden. Arthur was out within moments, their minor spat drained the last of his energy, and Eames' breathing was almost as soothing as his voice. Arthur drew nearer as it grew colder, until he was nestled neatly against Eames, a soft sigh escaping in his sleep.

\---

Loud bleating woke Arthur the next morning and he carefully lifted his head before pushing himself up. The cold hit first, followed by the observation that whatever his hand was using as support was very much not the mattress. Arthur looked down. _Eames_. He was fucking tangled in him, half on top and one leg between Eames' thighs. To make matters worse, he was half hard - that didn't last long. Arthur hastily extricated himself, retreating to turn off the alarm he'd set on his pad.

He looked back at Eames, mortified and guilty and agitated. It only made matters worse that Eames was awake now too, if only just. He couldn't blame it on him, though, Arthur had been on top and it had been more Eames' side of the bed... "Not a fucking word," he growled, voice sleep-rough.

Eames grinned but raised his palms up as Arthur clambered out of bed. "Boundaries. Good sleep, then?" he asked, teasingly.

Arthur offered a menacing look and made for his suitcase. Business. He wasn't going to waste time rising to Eames' taunts. Smug bastard, if he thought Arthur only fell asleep because of him and his stupid voice. He pulled out a grey suit, leaving the jacket but keeping the vest, and a pinstripe button-up.

Arthur glared as he walked by on his way to the bathroom, where he quickly dressed and slicked back his hair. He felt more put-together as he exited and hoped that if he ignored their nocturnal foray into cuddling that Eames would too.

"If I show up early at Badger's, is that a problem?" he asked, now crossing the room to get to the safe and retrieve the music box.

Eames yawned in response to Arthur's question. "I don't know, seems in character. Not that it'll make him particularly happy but it's better than late."

"And don't forget to pick up your pulse defragmentor. You can seriously fuck your engine." A shirt flopped down a foot away from Arthur’s suitcase as if in lieu of an answer.

"Yes, mother, I know, I'm going to go get it right now." Eames sighed and rolled his eyes. "I guess I'll have to walk the whole way there."

"I wouldn't remind you if you hadn't forgotten earlier," Arthur quipped, slightly tetchy. If it was true, it had worked out in his favor but Eames hadn't planned on it... and why was he even worried about Eames' ship? He wasn't he decided with a minute shake of his head. Arthur hefted the pack on his shoulder and made for the door. He'd pick up a continental breakfast of coffee and a bagel from the lobby, and then make the trip to Badger's den.

\---

Arthur did a final check on his Kel-Tec P32 in a cramped bathroom stall of the building adjacent Badger's. It passed inspection, as it had when he'd packed it, when he'd arrived on Persephone, and at various times in the hotel room.

He loaded it and slipped it out of sight before exiting the stall and heading out to meet Badger. He went through the abrupt turns, glad they matched Eames' description, until he reached the main area. Five men, one at the door, two flanking a smaller man in ratty charcoal tweed and the stenographer. The man at the door shifted to allow Arthur in with a grunt and Arthur made an effort to look cowed as he slipped in.

The man who Arthur assumed was Badger motioned him forward as he toyed with a makeshift apple peeler on his desk and Arthur went, though unhappily, to the center of the room. He casually tucked his hand inside his pocket, fingers wrapping around the grip of the gun. Paranoid, perhaps.

"You can drop the act, it's piss-poor acting by the way," Badger lilted, smiling at Arthur entirely self-satisfied behind his desk. "You're earlier than I'd like, I'm expecting company." They lapsed into tense silence almost immediately after that as Badger proceeded to eat his apple.

It wasn’t long until someone else was let into the room and Arthur turned to see Eames, disposable cup in hand and flanked by several hulking goons with machine guns. His mind automatically crossed off the possibility that Eames had sold him out. Not with that entourage.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, exactly?" Eames started but that only got him a condescending look from Badger as Eames was ushered to stand on Arthur's left.

"Charges of conspiring against me and mine, Mr. Eames. Or did you think I wouldn't notice your," Badger gestured vaguely between the two of them, "close ties with Mr. Hale here."

"Oh, yes, I should have probably warned you about his habit of wearing a tie and a shirt without a collar, it must be scarring for you, the fashion travesty-" Eames said as if Badger wasn’t there.

Arthur kept silent, only a faint twitch of his lips at Eames' mention of the absurdity of Badger's sartorial choices. Mostly because Eames was one to talk.

"Mr. Eames, you're going to drink your tea and keep your mouth closed until spoken to, is that clear?" There was the click of a gun's safety somewhere behind them.

"Crystal, My lord Mr. Badger sir. But if you don't mind my asking, what exactly are we conspiring here?" Eames said, then took a swig of the contents of his cup. God forbid he ever follow directions. At least Eames wasn’t lying about dealing with Badger, if Badger knew his taste in drink.

"Don't play dumb," Badger sneered, while Arthur took the time to factor in the new positioning. With Eames on his left, the stenographer and the guard to Badger's side had their lines of sight severely compromised, the lock box would at least save Arthur's vitals from the guard behind. Still, the guard on the right had a clear shot.

"You think I don't know it was you that set me up with this gorram fed? You think I don't know about you?" Badger stood from his seat, adjusting his jacket and he made his way closer to them. "I'll string you up for this myself, Eames."

If Badger moved over just a bit, Arthur might have been obscured enough to draw his gun. The guards seemed more interested in Eames and if he stayed quiet it would remain that way. He felt calm wash over him as he planned out his actions.

"I don't think you know a whole lot about me, naw," Eames drawled, sounding far closer to his Karlson persona than Arthur had heard in a while. "I set absolutely no one up. It's a nice box, don't work none, but it's right pretty. Also you're going to have to wear heels if you're meaning to string me up at any point in the near future. I am impressed with you finding out about it and all."

"What did I say about the talking?" Eames shrugged. Badger took half a step closer, trying to impose. "Having friends in high places does a man a good service. By tipping them off when one's turned full traitor, not just unrepentant ass, and offering a good price on your sweetheart here's head is what. Taking it up with a fed, Mr. Eames, that's just ghastly, even for you. Is this about the Vale job, is that what this is? You sellin' me out? Cause that ain't right fair - what's a little explosion between businessmen? Not that you're much behaving like one right now. So I'm going to ask you one more time about your gorramn plan and then I'm going to have you shot, whether you answer me or not."

Another step would have been optimal but Arthur decided to take his chance, drawing his P32 out and pressing it to Badger's side without preamble. He didn't allow himself to relish in the comically wide eyes, instead addressing the guards.

"Weapons down, Badger can't pay you if he's dead," Arthur asserted. The stenographer caught on quickly and set his weapon aside. Arthur thought he might have gained some notoriety given the speed with which the man resumed typing. The others followed, understanding how payment worked."Eames and I are leaving, I suggest you let us," he told Badger, weapon trained on him even as he tried to push Eames towards the left exit with his free hand. The right was swarmed with armed mercenaries and Arthur didn't like his chances with those tight corners.

"Bloody hell, you really are working with the fed," Badger griped, smart enough not to cross a man on the right side of a gun. At least not until his cover was lost but Arthur had bought himself some time by ordering guns on the ground. Wouldn't be much though.

"I thought you came to that conclusion already?" Eames didn't drag his feet, dropping his almost finished tea off on the first available surface to replace it with his gun. "Twisted my arm and everything. I'd yell at him for breaking cover completely but I like leave here alive, thank you. Well, we'll be off now and no one needs to get hurt," he aimed his gun down the corridor, waiting for Arthur to cross the same distance. They'd have to run for it, so whatever guards down this exit didn't have time to be alarmed by the gunfire and pick up their own.

Arthur crossed the span in inches, walking backwards until he heard beaded curtains brushing against the pack he still held under his arm. "We clear, Eames?" he asked, eyes still on Badger who had shifted from scared to pissed off. Arthur hoped there were fewer mercenaries or at least fewer turns. He tensed to run, trusting Eames implicitly. "Clear as we'll ever be."

They ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to point out any typos that escaped us. c:


	3. Chapter 3

"You're dead, Eames, dead!" Badger shouted and it echoed along the corridor, immediately followed by the sound of gunfire. It was claustrophobic and the turns were as tight as the other corridor and darker. Eames charged forward sloppily and took down the first guard before the man had time to use his weapon. Arthur swiftly kicked the downed guard in the head and then swept the man's gun aside. Badger's shouts were difficult to decipher but the bullets leaving their chambers weren't. Luckily, they had the advantage over the guards coming from the main room. Arthur shot one approaching man in the leg and made a call.

”Switch with me.” 

They'd be easy for Eames to pick off while Arthur made use of the ricochet smaller rounds afforded and smoked out the poor bastard waiting for them on the other side.

"Gladly, darling." Eames ducked under the lock box and started picking of the men still in the room behind them. "We need to clear this within five minutes, else my entourage will have time to get their asses over to our exit."

"Working on it," Arthur groused, firing carefully at the wall until the guard startled forward. Arthur shot him in the foot and landed a hard uppercut as the man went down in agony. He scooped up the gun with his free hand and neatly stepped over his body.

"Moving," he announced, and broke into a run, "How many are we expecting?" Ducking into a crouched roll as he rounded the next corner, Arthur managed to surprise the guard expecting someone at eye level and he shot him in the shoulder before the man could hit more the the lock box.

Arthur could hear hydraulic lifts and engines, they must have been close to the loading bay. That meant transportation: Arthur prayed for something they could use, a speeder or even a mule.

"Five outside, but not in any sort of order," Eames said as they stopped short of the exit, "they probably won't even hear us or Badger's comm over the noise. Not to mention they're mostly loaders, not bruisers. If we go left, it's maybe ten minutes running to my ship unless there's a magical ride waiting for us outside."

"Got it." Eames was right, the men outside seemed more shocked than threatening as they stopped working and stared. One of them started clumsily reaching for his weapon and Arthur shot him through the forehead on instinct, then tossed the empty gun aside, switching to the gun he’d picked up from a guard. The other men remained still and Arthur caught sight of transport.

"You, get out of the vehicle," Arthur barked, heading for the four-wheeled mule and assuming Eames would continue following, hopefully with his weapon on the loaders. The man balked and Arthur had to rip him out at gunpoint.

"Magical enough, Eames?" he asked, climbing in, then added, "Unhitch the cargo." They needed all the speed they could get but Arthur wouldn't wait long before taking off, bullets already starting to fly as the workers gathered their wits and the mercenaries arrived.

"Did I say that out loud?" Eames asked, reaching back to unscrew the bolt from the cargo, cursing as he almost lost a couple of fingers as it sprung free from the already moving vehicle. "I do enjoy talking in stressful situations. How does it feel to have a price on your head, darling? I know I'm enjoying taking all the credit for this operation." He settled into the shotgun seat, leaning forward to look back. "They're more organized than I thought."

Arthur gave a soft grunt, only half paying attention to Eames as he navigated out into the mostly dirt roads, he'd talk once there weren't bullets pinging off the metal chassis. At least none of the mercs seemed bright enough to aim for the tires.

"How the fuck did he get my name?" Arthur asked once they were reasonably clear. When Eames said organized he probably meant the hired help, but Arthur was more concerned about where Badger got his intel. He'd come in as Milton, he'd gotten the room as Milton, even if someone had overheard he was a fed, how did Badger know Arthur's surname?

"Wouldn't know, love. Said something about friends in high places."

Arthur's curiosity was short-lived as the sound of hovers filled the air, followed by gunshots and pandemonium from those out this early as they scrambled inside whatever building they could. Arthur floored it, taking sharp turns that jostled them hard. "Eames, I hope you can get the doors open remotely," he said through gritted teeth as they barreled passed a street vendor. If not, Arthur would get him to jump out while he provided cover. God, he hoped he could trust Eames not to close that door before Arthur got in.

Eames leaned on his arm, firing before he was almost thrown out of the mule by another sharp turn. "Do I look like a wealthy man to you?" he answered the second question, managing to shoot through a windshield by the sound of it, then the revolver was out of bullets.

"You stole a million credits," Arthur snapped, "you can't afford a goddamn remote?"

His answer was a long suffering sigh and Eamers drew out a second gun, probably also filched from one of the downed guards, firing back once again. "Park up front and we should be in in a couple seconds. I can't afford for someone to hack into my ship via the remote. Not to mention the fact that medicine doesn't exactly power a ship."

Arthur breathed out sharply through his nose but then he was already trying to pull around front, parking it as strategically as he could without getting in the way of the gangplank. He swung it around to ensure Eames could get out closer to the entry pad while Arthur fired shot after shot.

"Eames!" he shouted, only slightly alarmed as bullets whizzed by haphazardly, "Get it open!" It needed reiterating.

"Going down!" The hydraulics hissed, bringing the plank down, gates sliding open. "All aboard!" Eames shouted and Arthur turned and sprinted hard, heart pounding as loud as his feet and the rattling metal of plank and the contents of the pack. He rushed to the console to close it as soon as he was in, unmindful of the bullet that grazed his side in the adrenaline-fueled haze.

"Eames!" he shouted, bordering on panicked as the transport loomed closer.

"I'm on it, strap on to something," Eames half yelled as he thundered down the already rising plank and bolted up the stairs, hopefully up to the control room, the ship rumbling to life almost seconds later. Arthur gripped the paneling as tightly as he could, feeling himself shake nearly to pieces as the ship vibrated erratically.

"Breaking atmo in five," Eames' voice came through the intercom somewhere to his left. The rumbling subsided to something more manageable. "Everything alright?"

It took Arthur a moment to steady himself and find the intercom, but he buzzed in, "Yeah, fine," then he checked himself for injuries. Oh. He hit the switch again, "Do you have a med kit?" Arthur pressed his hand to the wound, hissing. It wasn't bad though, he just needed some stitches. He'd patched up worse, the angle might make it hard to sew, but it wasn't a problem. Except it was flaring painfully now that he was aware of it.

"A medkit-?!" There was a bit of silence. "Think you can hold tight for five minutes? I can't exactly leave the controls while we're leaving the atmosphere and it's a bit complicated to explain. And if you're hurt you shouldn't be standing for the exit. There is a seat under the stairs - be a dear and strap in please."

"I'm fine," Arthur bit out but strapping in was a good idea. He carefully made his way to the seat Eames described, wincing as he dropped the pack and sat. Arthur buckled in and with one hand held the bag, the other he pressed to the wound to keep it closed. And shit; this was now his only shirt. Everything else was back at the hotel and now it had a hole and a bloodstain.

He'd worry about it later and braced for leaving the atmosphere. He let go of the pack long enough to hit the switch on the chair's intercom. "I'm in," he said, then grabbed the rucksack again.

And just in time. The ship rumbled and jerked, filling with racket as they rapidly pierced through the layers of the atmosphere, heating up. Every shake and rattle sent spasms of pain ratcheting up his side but Arthur kept quiet through the turbulence, willing it to be over soon. Eventually the ride did smooth out. So they must have broken atmo just fine, then. That was what they got for starting cold, or at least that was what Arthur hoped, rather than that the ship was simply a piece of shit in terrible condition. He stayed seated, though, Eames had said he'd grab the medkit and it was better if Arthur didn't disturb the graze too much.

"Let me see it." Arthur looked up as Eames descended the stairs, white box in hand.

"Took you long enough," Arthur grumbled, letting the pack fall and reaching out to take the kit. "I've got it," he said, ignoring Eames request and leaving his hand plastered to his side, a few inches below his middle. Nothing vital, just tissue. He was starting to feel light headed, but only a little, and some of that may have been coming down from an adrenaline high and the rocky take off.

"That wasn't a question." Eames kneeled, unbuckling Arthur's seat belt and pushing Arthur's hand out of the way in an attempt to see the graze as Arthur yelped. Fucking asshole. He decided if Eames was going to be stubborn about it, it would be best if Arthur let him do as he pleased. Arthur would like to stop bleeding sooner rather than later, after all. He slowly and carefully hiked up his shirt and vest, leaving sticky hand prints in the process and wincing when the cloth unavoidably brushed sensitive skin.

"Satisfied?" he asked, "Can I have the suturing kit and bandages now?"

"No," Eames cut off, already half way through ripping open a packet of wipes, before shaking his head and spilling some rubbing alcohol on the things before immediately starting in on cleaning Arthur's wound. "Stand up, Arthur, unless you want a gross scar out of this."

It wasn't that Arthur didn't trust Eames - well, he still didn't trust him, but he did believe that Eames genuinely meant to help - it was just that Arthur had lived and worked mostly on his own and to have someone offering support again... Arthur ruthlessly shoved the feeling aside in favor of hissing as the antiseptic did its work.

"Fine," he said gruffly and rose obediently, waiting for any further direction so Eames would have a better angle. It was stupid to turn down help and Eames could probably do a better job of it than Arthur anyway. It had been a long time since Arthur had treated his own injuries, though he still remembered how to do it. Considering Eames' lifestyle and that the Independents had even fewer med ships during the war, he was more likely than not well-versed in treating wounds.

"Good." Eames shuffled around on his knees, applying pressure around the wound. It still welled with blood and he grimaced but reached for the needle instead, thankfully already threaded.

"What about you?" Arthur asked, attempting to give Eames a once over and possibly return the favor so he wouldn't feel so damn vulnerable and useless. Eames seemed to stir those feelings a lot and Arthur found he did not appreciate it. He did not want to feel insecure around someone like Eames, clever and charming as he was... and no. Not going there.

"Stop squirming, I'm fine. Best luck this side of the 'Verse. Or something. Not at all the best aim, though, how do you do that? Made me feel damned useless for anything other than covering your back. And it was a nice trick you pulled with Badger, too. With your fancy little pocket gun and everything."

"Try a shooting range," Arthur said, not quite mean but not quite nice either, unable to tell if Eames was sincere, patronizing or just offering a distraction. He decided to utilize it as a distraction regardless, rather than pay attention to the little tugs and punctures. "I learned young, and kept at it, that's all." He fell silent and then quietly: "I think I killed a man, Eames."

That wasn't true - he _knew_ he did. Most of his shots had been non-lethal, but that one man... He'd killed plenty of people during the war, and mostly it didn't haunt him, or he'd grown so used to the burden it no longer mattered, but this hadn't been war. He could have shot him in the leg, or the arm.

"That you did. I'd try to avoid it next time, if I were you. Not that we can possibly get into any deeper shit from where we are now." Eames finished tying the knot of the string, snipping the remainder off with the provided scissors. "Honestly I'd try to avoid getting into even nonlethal firefights for at least the next life time. But that's just me."

For whatever reason, that settled Arthur. He would still have preferred not to have killed the man, but Eames blase indifference made it seem less horrid, and the fact remained that the man had been going for his gun and almost certainly would have killed them. "What happened on the Vale job?" Arthur asked, quickly changing the subject. He couldn't bring the man back to life.

"Nothing, just some scavenge cargo rigged to explode once removed from its base. He might have known about it, he might not have, I got out of it fine with some minor burns but almost missed my ship and floated off into space. Almost being a very vague but key term." Arthur privately wondered why Eames hadn't crossed Badger of his own volition before gasping as Eames smoothed what looked like procaine gel from a small tube over Arthur's side, apparently deciding to live with some loss of feeling in his fingers since he hadn't exactly put on gloves.

The cold quickly turned to a tingling sensation that then faded to pure numbness, which was absolute bliss as far as Arthur was concerned. He rested his clean hand on Eames for support as Eames pressed the sticky bandage flat against Arthur's skin, smoothing it out with quick, efficient movements. "Now you tell me," Eames started again, "Why is it that I gather the Alliance has an underground warrant for their own federal agent?"

Arthur's grip turned hard. "What do you mean?" Arthur asked, harsh with much of his good-will towards Eames lost immediately.

"What do I mean?" Eames raised his eyebrows, looking up. "I don't know if you noticed, darling, but an acceptable plan was rooted out before it even got started, up to and including your identity not to mention the small matter of a price on your head from, and I quote, friends in high places? Unless you've pissed off some wealthy son of a bitch, my only guess is Alliance. Or both even, if said son of a bitch is paying people off right and left. Also that bit where we almost died. It wasn't supposed to go that badly - it couldn't have without a third party."

"Don't fucking start," Arthur spat, "it was Nash or one of his people, or the local police, or Badger bullshitting, but it wasn't the Alliance. I don't know what you think you're doing, but you can fuck right off." Because there was no way the Alliance was setting him up after everything that he'd done, after everything he'd fought for. That little voice reared up, the one that had suspicions since he was assigned this case, but Arthur ignored it, refused to pay any heed.

"Let me up," Eames demanded, pushing at Arthur's hand.

Arthur didn't, instead trying to shove Eames further down. "They wouldn't want me dead, what possible reason could they have? What, are you trying to get me to on your side? Because it isn't happening, you're just a fucking con artist." Even as the words left his mouth he began to regret them, not only from a tactical standpoint - they were going to be on this ship for a while - but simply because Eames was more than a con artist, and he could hurl that invective all he liked, but it didn't change the fact that Arthur actually rather liked Eames when he wasn't being an asshole, and sometimes even then.

"Arthur-," Eames started before sighing and rolling his eyes before drawing up his hands. "I'm not trying anything, Arthur, I'm trying to figure out what's going on and where in the ‘Verse would even be safe after what just happened," he said softly. Arthur settled at the gesture, and then instinctively further at the softer tones and his grip on Eames' shoulder fell lax. "And it's not going to be Ariel." And immediately Arthur's hackles were back up.

He needed to get to Ariel, out here he had nothing and he needed to get in touch with his superiors, someone needed to know there was a mole on Persephone. He was going to Ariel, and he was going to reopen the Fischer case too and finally catch the son of a bitch.

"We're done talking," Arthur announced, composed and cold, "let me know what planet you decide and I'll find a new ride." He'd still be stuck with Eames for several days and he hoped Rook had two quarters or it was going to be a very long few days.

"Arthur. You 狗操的屎-. Rules aren't going to get you anywhere. Why the hell do you believe in the loyalties of people you barely know and take such an issue with mine?"

Arthur stood, forcing an impassive expression as he listened. "I have issue with yours because it took the threat of arrest for you to work with me. I trust you not to murder me but not any farther than that." Yes, Eames had had his six but that was because his life was on the line too. "Don't make this something it isn't," Arthur said, and he could have been directing it at himself because all he could think about was the way Eames had gently patched him up, and the way he helped Arthur fall asleep, and the way he baited and teased.

Eames sat, which brought him out of Arthur's reach and shut the medkit, standing in short order afterward. "No one's making it anything."

Arthur grabbed the pack, following Eames upstairs. He tamped down on the emotions threatening to devour him as he always did. It wasn't real if he didn't acknowledge it, and the therapist he'd had could shake her head all she liked, Arthur was fine if he ignored everything but his objectives. He hoped Eames was planning to show him where he'd be staying or maybe snag a new shirt. A washing station would be good too, his hand was still caked with blood. So were Eames' for that matter.

Eames dumped the case back where it had been - a closet full of what looked like cleaning supplies - not mindful of the bloody handprints on that, or the sink he slid out of the wall in the adjacent room, shoving his hands under the stream of cold water. He washed quickly, a brusque flurry of activity.

Arthur had upset him then, given Eames' lack of carefree swagger. He felt guilt claw its way up as he felt Eames' shoulder collide against his own on his way elsewhere, but he didn't make so much as a sound of protest. He just went to wash his hands, but he did see Eames yank out a white tshirt from the drawers in the room and storm out. Arthur felt sickeningly lost, which further discomforted him because he shouldn't care that he'd upset Eames. At least, not beyond what it would mean for him in the coming weeks.

Arthur changed quickly, slipping into the shirt that hung a little loose, but otherwise wasn't objectionable. He then did a questionable thing, and peeked in Eames' drawers, finding loud patterns and appalling colors, which made him realize that even though Eames had been angry he still tried to consider Arthur's taste. Eames was still down the hall if the heavy clanks and crashes were anything to go by and Arthur made a split decision. It would be better if he and Eames tried to get along, this ship was too small for them to avoid one another and even a few days of stepping on each other's toes or walking on eggshells was a lot to deal with.

But Arthur wasn't one for apologies and he didn't want to bring it up, so he'd try something else. He opened the pack, took the music box out of its secure container and placed it on what he assumed was Eames' bed as a peace offering. The tracker in it was only good on Persephone and only Arthur could activate it anyway - hopefully Eames knew that or the animosity would only escalate. He stuffed his clothes into the bag and followed the loud noises, immediately stepping in to help Eames with a particularly large - well, Arthur wasn't sure what it was, but it was heavy as he tried to lift it.

"If you tear your stitches I'm going to tear you a new one, Arthur," Eames warned, whatever tone he tried for undermined by the exertion of carrying the weight. "Room to the left," he directed shortly anyways.

"I'm not going to tear my stitches," Arthur half-grunted as he tread carefully, face turned as far as his neck allowed. His knee twinged, startling him into a short stop, barely more than a few seconds, that he hoped Eames wouldn't notice as unusual. He cautiously made the left turn into a room spilling with indeterminate devices and spare parts and god knew what else, taking a minute to look around as they put down the heavy object. He looked at Eames, then back at the piles of junk, and back at Eames. "You have a problem," he said simply. Might have been too soon for such a dryly delivered joke; Arthur had decided to move on as though nothing happened, he had no idea where Eames was on the subject and he certainly hadn't seen the music box yet so he probably thought Arthur was being an ass - and now Arthur was overthinking the issue and wishing he had stayed silent.

"That's what they all say." Eames sighed, watching what Arthur could now identify as a boiler roll helplessly on its side where they put it down. "And so I've been told. It's all useful, trust me. If just to fashion other things out of it," he said, dusting off his hands. So he hadn't taken offense at least. Eames headed back into the the other room and Arthur followed, arriving in time to see Eames knocking a mattress on to its frame before fishing out sheets from the permanent fixture of drawers.

"I'm sure it is, or it would be, if you could actually get to any of it," Arthur quipped, relieved. He'd never seen Eames so wound up, and well, he supposed he didn't actually know Eames, but in their interactions there had always been an ease to his movements and a languid fluidity to his gestures. Eames seemed restless, and he'd seemed that way before when he insisted on performing the suture himself. It slotted into place, or Arthur thought he had it figured out. Not that he knew what to do, Arthur preferred to not talk about the war when he was forcibly reminded of it, which was often lately, so he hung back, consciously staying in Eames' line of sight to avoid startling and attempting to help without getting underfoot. Not easy, as he didn't know where anything was stored.

"I take it you don't have passengers often?" Arthur asked, a touch awkward because he didn't do much small talk or know what might properly distract Eames. Maybe Eames needed quiet.

"No, I don't," Eames sighed, answering the more observation than question. "More of a loner, me, which is why I try to avoid loud jobs where you'd need back up to get you out of there." A little bit of digging unearthed a pillow and he tossed it on the bed. "Also actively try to avoid explosions if you have any of those up your sleeve."

Arthur frowned as he caught Eames looking at his side for the umpteenth time now. He'd thought the disquiet had been a product of the fire fight, but maybe it was more that Arthur had been hurt. It brought about mixed emotions, on the one hand, Arthur had no need for coddling. The graze had been five or six stitches, that was hardly anything. Eames must have seen worse than that, did he feel guilty because he wasn't hurt? Arthur wasn't so good with people, he was grasping at straws in regards to what had Eames bothered. But... it felt, oddly comforting that Eames was concerned. Arthur privately enjoyed it. His knee gave another little twinge, so Arthur took a seat on the bed, doing his utmost to avoid drawing attention to the old ache with well-practiced skill.

"Would you have been able to talk Badger down?" Arthur asked, wondering if he'd made the wrong call. He also wanted Eames to understand it fell on Arthur's shoulders, and that if it hadn't been for Eames, Arthur would be dead rather than mildly inconvenienced by a few stitches. Maybe then Eames would stop looking so shifty, though hopefully he wouldn't take the opportunity to open up a dialogue on Badger's intel. Arthur would hate to start fighting again.

"No, I doubt it. He seemed pretty set on getting the plan out, but he would have had me shot almost for certain. He might forgive you for dropping him off in the middle of the desert to walk given that you're useful, but not setting him up like that. Most of it was stalling, and giving enough pieces of useless info for him to figure he could get out more if he kept me talking, no matter what asinine drivel I was saying." Eames sighed, but tossed the pillow at Arthur's head instead of commenting on him sitting down on the bed Eames hadn't finished making.

Arthur managed to half catch the pillow, not enough to prevent being struck in the face, but enough that it didn't bounce off. He lowered it onto the bed with dark glare directed at Eames, catching him slamming one of the drawers on his fingers then frowning at them. The gel was doing wonders for Arthur's side, so it was probably quite an annoyance for Eames. "Is that what you did to him, after the Vale job?" Arthur asked. He didn't bother to compliment Eames' ability to cast about crumbs of information, he'd fallen for the ploy himself, but he suspected he gathered even less information than Badger.

"Let me put these down, would you, and then you can sit all you'd like." Eames gestured to the comforter and the flat bedsheet in the crook of his arm.

Arthur almost asked Eames to make the bed later, but that might prompt him to ask why, and it would be better for Arthur's dignity if he pushed himself up to stand. His knee allowed it, provided he leaned against the wall.

"But nah, that was Reynolds, after Badger 'accidentally' sent two parties to the same objective. I don't have enough firepower to pull tricks like that, like I said. It was a pretty funny story though. I just avoided him for a couple of days, then purposely botched a job and made him pay me for it anyway so I'd accept the next one." Eames let the bedsheet unfurl and fall flat on the bed, following it by the comforter. "There you go, sit back down to your liking."

Arthur filed that away, doubtful he'd need that particular piece of intelligence, but loathe to disregard it. He actually found the uneasy alliances fascinating and it was good to know Badger had at least as many enemies as he did friends. "How are your fingers?" Arthur asked. "And thanks, by the way," Arthur finally said and then cleared his throat. He took a seat, holding back a comment on the lack of hospital corners.

"My fingers are fine," Eames wiggled them in front of his face, rubbing them with his thumb, "although your side must be even better, given that I can't feel shit here, now. Never gets not weird. And you're welcome, I'll be in the next room getting organized, yes, organized, try not to faint. You can call me if you need anything."

Arthur gently pressed at his side, only registering a vague pressure. He looked back up at Eames as he mentioned going to organize the other room, and then Eames was grinning, and that sent something skittering inside Arthur that he didn't much care to analyze. "I'd like to see what passes as organization for you," Arthur said, standing up to go with him and then unsure - what if Eames wanted to go alone? He chalked the urge to follow Eames up as a temporary habit brought about by their unusual circumstances. "Or, do you have a book?" he asked to give Eames an easy out.

"I don't know, is me lugging heavy objects around more interesting than a book?" Eames called from the next room already, coat hanging on the handle of the sink drawer as he bent to roll the offending boiler over to one of the walls when Arthur walked in. "I'm flattered, darling. There's a little bit of a library in the cockpit, although it's not as much as I'd like. And if you want to take a look around in general you can go ahead."

Actually, if Eames lost his shirt... and that was a rabbit hole down which Arthur would not venture. He was taken somewhat aback by the overt display of trust, letting Arthur into the cockpit could spell a world of trouble for Eames and this was the second time he would be left unsupervised in the bedroom-cum-cockpit. But even as he made the short trip Arthur knew he wasn't going to do anything untoward. He should signal the Alliance, but they'd want to question Eames and, selfishly, Arthur wanted to bring him in on his own. He wanted to best Eames fairly.

The set up was strange and disorganized, but Arthur found the assortment of books in relatively short order. Eames had not been joking about a miniature library, it seemed his literary tastes were as eclectic as his clothing choices. He picked a sizable book at random - _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ \- and gave the console another calculating glance.

He listened to Eames moving objects around; he had a perfect opportunity to get a message out, and no real reason not to seize it other than horrifically misplaced loyalty if he stopped lying to himself. He cautiously took a seat. Whatever inappropriate affections he harbored had to be put aside. If the Alliance picked them up it would be a hitch in Eames’ plans, but no threat if Arthur gave an explanation and left out the alias. It could work. Yet within seconds the panel detected unauthorized access and Arthur found himself locked out. He slammed his fist down hard. Eames' voice filtered through the speakers.

"I never said you can drive, Arthur. And if you don't know what a word means you can just ask."

That had been a monumentally bad idea, but Eames sounded less volcanic and more mildly annoyed. Smug bastard had probably expected it. Arthur stood up, book in hand, and made his way to his temporary quarters. If Eames played back the keystrokes he'd see that he'd been trying to hail the Alliance. Arthur had nothing to say.

He crossed the walkway as quietly as possible, praying he wouldn't have to deal with Eames and that the matter would be dropped. At least he wouldn't have to feel guilty about trust, it was clear Eames had issues in that department as well. But Eames was still busy in the storage room as Arthur slipped past.

Arthur put the book down on the bed and took a few minutes to better acquaint himself with the room: it was compact, with drawers and a restroom pull out. There wasn't much to speak of in the drawers, mostly linens and strange odds and ends that Eames must have picked up and never found use for. When Eames didn't make contact Arthur moved to the bed, propping himself against the wall and absently stretching his leg out while he read. The phantom pain receded and Arthur was as near to relaxed as he found possible.

"Paranoid, right? I'm assuming you were trying to flag an Alliance cruiser? If not crashing us into the nearest moon."

Eames was standing in the door jamb, shirt partially undone and coated in a light sheen of perspiration, and it wasn't fucking fair. Arthur swallowed tightly and hoped Eames would assume it had to do with being called out. He focused on the book, staring so hard at the page in front of him the words blurred. "I don't crash, Mr. Eames," he stated, letting the implication that he'd tried to get a signal out remain. He wanted to go home.

Instead, he waited with feigned patience for Eames to air out his grievances, eyes still glued to the book. "If you're waiting for an apology, consider acquiring a chair."

"I'm not actually. If I was, I'd probably grow old and die by that time." Eames mussed his own hair. "But you know what? I'd let you wave whoever you wanted under one condition. Imagine me your controlling boyfriend if you will. If there is anyone in the Alliance who you trust with your life, for whom you would give your own to protect and has proven to be absolutely trustworthy to you by action and not just words - you can call them. So not 'fucking Nash' or whatever."

Arthur glanced up at the offer, ignoring the implications about Eames being a controlling boyfriend and quickly realized there was no one he trusted. Not truly, and his expression faltered from his typical neutrality. He didn't actively distrust them but there wasn't any one person he would turn to, not on active duty. He'd trusted like that only a handful of times and... It hadn't ended well. Arthur closed his eyes. He wasn't going to think about the Cobbs. Exhale. He opened his eyes. There was always Renate but she wasn't Alliance for a second, retired at best, and couldn't do anything about a mole. He could handle this himself.

"Davis," he lied, even though a part of him knew Eames wouldn't believe him for a second. "...Not Davis, there's no one," he hesitantly corrected before Eames could. Lying wouldn't get him anywhere except out of any good graces Eames had left. "Look, I trust my superiors and colleagues to do their jobs. I'll make sure they understand the only part you played was in helping me out of a tight spot. I've got to get to Ariel, the sooner the better if there's a rogue on Persephone selling us out."

"Arthur." Eames rested his head on the doorframe, sighing for the umpteenth time. "Aside from you being a terrible liar, it's not me I'm worried about as painful as that is to believe and everything. People do their jobs for money, Arthur, and if the money to not do their jobs is more than the money to do it, well, they don't do their jobs. I'm not saying everyone, but until you know which way is up, you can't actually show your face to Alliance at all. And if this has even a chance to go south, which it does, it will be devastating to both you and me. Unless you forgot about the part where it's a price on your head, not just a tip about a sabotage. That doesn't happen every day. Were you listening at all to what Badger was saying? I'm not going to kill you in your sleep, no, but I'm not going to facilitate you getting hurt, either." He rubbed the bridge of his nose again, turning a little of his attention to the book Arthur was holding instead of Arthur's pretense at reading it, tilting his head sideways to read the spine.

Arthur frowned, setting down the copy of _Hitchhiker's Guide_ and straightening up. He'd missed the part about there being a price on his head, his concentration had been elsewhere at the time, and he'd... well, he had assumed Eames would handle the talking. Which, he'd been right, Eames had been paying attention, but he had trouble coming to terms with the fact that he had relied on Eames without prior discussion.

"Wait, he was saying I'm your sweetheart?" Arthur asked after a moment, skeptical. Badger's accent and style of speech had been difficult to follow, and again, most of Arthur's attention had been consumed with planning an escape and focused on timing. "I thought," not that he'd given it much thought at the time, "you were seeing someone. You sure he's not talking about an old significant other?"

Eames groaned, tilting his head back and bending a little at the knee in a large exasperated gesture. "'Sweetheart', yeah, followed immediately by 'here' and 'taking it up with a fed'? Unless there was another agent there that I was unaware of, that pretty much leaves you, and there was even some gesturing involved that you might not have noticed. And I did stay in your room that night, didn't I? They sure knew where to pick me up. If the lady who dropped the box wasn't the one who told them about what she saw in the first place." He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Arthur scowled. "There were larger problems than Badger insulting you, I can't say I was concerned." He took a steadying breath, unhappy with the knowledge that he had directly put Eames in danger, it had been a risk making contact with him but spending the night had no doubt cinched it in Badger's mind. No time for regrets, it had worked out for the better.

"It wasn't the Alliance," Arthur insisted, "someone from Cobol or Fischer-Morrow. I have to talk to my superiors." He rose from the bed, and tried to urge Eames toward the cockpit so they could send the wave while they were still in range. Eames had mentioned it was limited, which was in keeping with Arthur's memory of this class of ship.

Eames sighed instead, bracing his hand against the other side of the door, blocking Arthur's exit. "And how pray tell does your Fischer-Cobol-Morrow know about the hotel you're in, if not which window, if not delivering the supposed plant to you personally? I thought this was an Alliance operation, not a conglomerate takeover of the black market. Really, Arthur, think, don't run straight into a trap."

Arthur halted, standing face to face with Eames and beyond pissed. He had no doubt he was at the very least a match for Eames, who may have had a few pounds on him but didn't seem as well-trained, but even if he did take him down the controls were still locked.

"There's an agent - one agent - willing to tell them, it's not the entire Alliance, Eames. The Alliance isn't the enemy and the war is fucking over, so drop whatever grudge you still have and let me call this in before this bastard actually manages to get some other agent killed." He shoved to punctuate, more show than actual force but there was muscle behind it. "Your details are shit Eames, you've got nothing substantial."

Eames let Arthur shove him, dropping his hand at least, in favor of folding both arms, scowling. "I'm glad you like to make it personal but I don't have any grudges, Arthur, or I wouldn't be talking to you, now would I? And that's exactly the problem, right there - I don't have any details. And you don't have enough! Who ever the mole is, it might be one agent, it might be ten, it might be someone's unborn fucking child, Arthur, but you don't know who it is. And that is the problem. Why do you think I asked if you trust anyone? Just to be nice? And that some other agent is going to be you if you haven't noticed, given that unless there's someone else who's been buzzing at Cobol-Morrow-Fisher's side for years on end, you are the one they're after and they're looking for even the most casual correspondence from you to pin your location. I'm not a fan of armadas descending on my ship, either!"

Arthur gritted his teeth and felt the muscles in his jaw flex. "It's not one of my directors, it has to be someone from Persephone. What you're suggestion is corruption within the highest offices, and it's not like that in the Core." It took everything to keep his voice level. "And if it's your own hide your worried about, I'll make sure the wave is encrypted. I'm not going to run away from this, Eames."

He'd placed his loyalties firmly with the Alliance and the more Eames tried to convince him the less he believed and the more he ignored his own circling doubts. Eames suggestions were ridiculous - none of his people on Ariel would want him dead, these were people trying to uphold the law. Eames had an angle, Arthur wasn't sure what it was yet, but Arthur didn't believe he was simply trying to keep Arthur safe. Arthur didn't need someone to keep him safe and he certainly didn't need someone attempting to manipulate him either.

"I'm suggesting you're an idiot actually, who seems to have a problem with thinking in shades of grey. Stop assuming I mean something else by what is coming out of my mouth. And you don't need to run away from this, ye of the large and easily bruised ego. You also don't need to go charging in blindly. If you would do this with any sort of sense, you would take that unrestricted, untraceable connection you promised me and do some digging. Then you could maybe find out exactly who you can talk to and who you should avoid. Because maybe there's no one on Ariel that is willing to bend the rules, as doubtful as that may be, but should they tell a fellow officer to tell another to tell someone else and that gets intercepted by a mole you are actually toast, darling. It's like you Alliance folk don't understand the benefits behind doing things on the down low, not just going in, guns blazing and sirens wailing."

Another point for Eames, Arthur's mind unhelpfully supplied. He really should stop digging in his heels, Eames wasn't suggesting anything that Arthur wouldn't have done had he drawn the same conclusion. He looked away, embarrassment hot on his cheeks.

"In order to get that unrestricted, untraceable connection I need to have a device that connects to the Cortex. I don't have my pad and your comm isn't going to support that much data. So, you want me to do some digging? You're going to have to give me access to the console," he said. Once in, he could do whatever he liked including send a message to Davis, or anyone else he chose. He wondered if Eames would take that risk, or if his mistrust would prevent it.

"Right..." Eames uncrossed his arms, tucking his thumbs into his bracers instead. "There must be some sainthood in the works for just dealing with you but fine. I will hope that you use your most unbiased and cautious judgement. If we all get killed regardless, I will at least go down knowing I was right and I can become a saint sooner than just ripe old age and they'll draw me pretty and handsome instead of old and prunelike." He turned, heading toward the cockpit.

Arthur recovered from his surprise in short order and followed Eames, almost running into him in his hurry to catch up. He felt his face grow even hotter when he realized Eames had caught sight of the music box and had stopped. He hadn't intended to be around for its discovery, but Eames made no fuss, just walking past it towards the console and Arthur certainly wasn't going to bring it up. He tried to watch Eames enter the code, but he knew he missed some of it, so he thought it prudent to treat this as his only chance as he sat.

"Hopefully it's not a painful ascension to sainthood..." Eames said behind him, moving away to do something else.

Arthur entered in a few codes of his own, only for it to bleat an angry denial at him. Arthur retyped it. Angry beep. He frowned, and tried a third time, taking great care to ensure he was hitting the right sequence. More flashing and beeping. Arthur felt his breathing shallow as he typed it in a fourth time and met with failure. "This doesn't mean anything," he asserted, but he could hardly convince himself, "it's only because I'm missing, they don't want access in the wrong hands."

"Missing? Darling, it's barely been an hour since we left Persephone, when have you managed to turn up as missing?"

Arthur knew that, just as he knew the plan had been shit, and horribly executed from Nash's end. That took more than one rogue. A lot more, considering someone on Ariel had approved it and appointed him to act as the seller. Arthur wiped a hand over his face and thought he might retch. He tried taking deep breaths. No, the Alliance wouldn't betray him like this. Something else was at work.

He turned to look at Eames who was tinkering with the music box. "I want to send a wave, I need to talk to them, they'll reset my codes and we'll figure out what happened." He had to believe that. He didn't know what else to do. And what was he doing seeking Eames' permission? He began setting up the wave, hands moving sluggishly and shaking. The Alliance was on his side, he repeated to himself.

"Arthur," Eames said from behind him. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, darling, but there is no tracker on your box." A hand touched Arthur's shoulder and he startled violently at the touch, then registered that it was Eames' hand there and managed to keep from ripping it off and breaking the arm. It retreated immediately. "At all and," a pause and Eames' tone changed from casual to soothing, "you're having a panic attack and I can't in good conscience let you send a wave in that state. You can send one later, once you're thinking straight."

"No... no tracker?" Arthur asked, willing his heart to slow down and struggling to focus.

"Come here," Eames continued gently, "and calm down, and everything will be fine, yeah?"

"I'm not having a panic attack," Arthur denied angrily, but Eames was speaking softly and telling him to come once more and Arthur shakily got up to follow. "Oh shit, Eames, shit, I am," he heard himself say, voice pinched, "But I have to send the wave, please, I... they'll tell me what to do, they'll explain - There wasn't a tracker?" His thoughts circled back, confused and muddled along with frantic.

His face contorted in a kind of agony, fighting to calm the fuck down, which seemed to be having the reverse effect and he felt like he might be dying and he wished it would happen already so that he wasn't doing this in front of fucking Eames who was really seeing him at his best, wasn't he?

"Sit, here, that's a love," Eames was saying. "You can send all the waves in the world, but later, just a little later, alright? Right now you have to focus on breathing, in and out, slowly, easy, come on, there you are. Think about that and Douglas Adams, yeah? Of all the books I had stashed away you picked that one, I said it was my favorite before, way before."

Breathing, yes, he could do breathing, Arthur inhaled deeply and then gave a too quick shuddering exhale. Slow, Eames had said. Arthur tried again, a little less uneven. "And _Blade Runner_ ," he said, remembering that conversation and latching on. He was fine, sitting on Eames bed, perfectly safe and talking about books. His chest was still rising and falling heavily, but his breathing was significantly slower.

Then Eames said something about leaving and Arthur's heart went erratic as he realized how very much he didn't want to be alone right now. He grabbed Eames' bracers tightly so he couldn't leave, locking him into kneeling in front of him. "Just talk," Arthur ordered and he would be mortified later, but all he wanted was for Eames to continue. "Anything, about anything."

"Ah - Yeah, I said _Blade Runner_ , too, didn't I? You have such a good memory. Don't worry, I'm not leaving if you don't want me to. And talking is my pleasure.

"The last job I took before I came to Persephone was to take a bunch of piglets out to Beaumonde. And you'd think that's as simple as it gets but that's cause you don't know piglets. They're nasty little buggers, right smart, too, and the cage I was given left a lot to be desired. Hell, I think some of them knew how to pick locks.

"I think I spent most of the time I should have been paying attention to where I was going trying to corner a bunch of pink squealing animals into their cage. And they somehow managed to get drawers open and broke into their little food supply thing. I barely managed to stop them from eating it all the first day out. And the mess they caused! They can climb up and down stairs no problem, too."

Arthur had gradually quieted, his breathing grew less ragged and harried and his grip on Eames' loosened, though he didn't quite let go. Eames' good humor was almost contagious and when he laughed Arthur felt lighter.

"At least none of them got into the engine, or I'd be smelling pork for days. I had to get the ship cleaned on Beaumonde anyway, not like they can arrest me for smelling like pig, after all. All that mess for tax evasion... At least it paid pretty well, so I shouldn't complain but it had to be the most vexing yet somehow adorable cargo I've ever had. Well. Besides you of course."

Arthur was sufficiently calm by now and cleared his throat. "Are you calling a me a pig?"

"A pig, no. A piglet, though, maybe." Eames brightened further, grinning wider. "But mostly a pain. As long as you don't get stuck in the engine I'll maybe consider it a tie for most annoying. Especially with your habit of worrying me and keeping me on my knees."

Arthur pieced himself together in increments, not yet steady but far from distressed, so when Eames placed his hand on Arthur's ribs, Arthur didn't flinch or recoil. He simply allowed himself to enjoy the comforting weight and ignored Eames' friendly gripes and teasing, though Arthur felt tremendously thankful Eames was behaving like himself. The gratitude vanished as Eames' hand ventured towards his injured side. He felt exposed enough without Eames prodding at soft spots and he didn't want the reminder that this made the second time Eames had treated him.

Arthur viciously grabbed Eames' wrist and wrenched it away. "Stop," he ordered harshly, and tried to push Eames out of the way. He needed a chance to regain his composure and he needed to be as far from Eames as possible until then. He had a hard time showing weakness, he couldn't handle it being so on display for Eames. Arthur knew he'd need to talk to Eames, but all he wanted was a chance to recover quietly in his own space, without Eames' judgement.

"Tch, alright, I'm just checking," Eames raised his hand again, as if to show there was nothing in it. "Well, I'm glad you're better. Give you an hour and we might even be able to hold a civil conversation about what we need to talk about." He stood, dusting his pants off. "Am I right?"

Arthur's nostrils flared and his mouth twisted in contempt. He fucking hated it, how transparent he was to Eames. How he couldn't pull himself together. And he shouldn't feel this agitated, Eames had only guided him through a panic attack - Christ, he hadn't had one of those in a long time - and checked the wound. It wasn't Eames' fault that everything was spiraling out of control, but Arthur couldn't stop the resentment from building. "I don't know," he snapped, and rose from the bed, "can you keep your fucking hands to yourself?"

He stalked past Eames without waiting for a reply to his spiteful question, blindly heading for his temporary quarters where he could hopefully lock himself away and avoid all of this. The only discussion Arthur wanted to have was about where he was being dropped off, and it was going to have to wait because Eames was right about Arthur's current inability to have a civil conversation.

Arthur set a randomized four digit passcode to lock the door as soon as he closed it. The console had overrides, but it would, if nothing else, create a hassle for Eames. He spent a few minutes trying to pick up where he'd left off in the book, but the more he read it the more he thought of Eames and the more he wanted to throw something, or break something, which was beyond churlish and irrational. Instead, he tucked the book in a drawer and moved to the center of the room to run through some light exercises that wouldn't strain his side.

It wasn't long before a dull pain manifested, and Arthur pressed at the wound, finding it tender but not unbearable. Eames had done a remarkable job, if Arthur put aside his ire, and even if he didn't, actually. He frowned. The uncomfortable knowledge that Eames hadn't meant anything by the touch, other than possibly seeking an assurance that Arthur was still all right, nagged at him. Eames had been nothing but supportive, if Arthur took the time to consider it. Arthur had been the one to lash out while Eames had done everything a person could to help. Eames had even understood his surge of aggression, and didn't that smart?

Arthur gave a heavy sigh. He needed to seize control of the situation, not hide until Eames dropped out of the 'Verse, and he couldn't do anything if he and Eames remained at odds. He punched in the numbers and exited the room, stepping lightly along the walkway to Eames' room. He slipped inside, glad Eames hadn't locked it.

Eames was fiddling with the music box, the ugly reminder there hadn't been a tracker reared its head, but Arthur ignored it the same as the faint ache in side. He stood, falling into a stiff posture that was almost military in nature, and fumbled for something to say that wasn't frivolous or likely to foster another argument. "You seem to have experience with panic attacks... were you a medic?" he asked, carefully neutral. He vaguely remembered Eames telling him he flew supplies and filled various other positions during the war, maybe he'd been a medic.

"Medic? Naw. Hardly any such thing off a med ship. Just a wealth of personal experience including but not limited to waking up for someone to be talking a gun out of my hands. How's your side?" Eames looked up from what he was doing. "You should be feeling at least a bit of it now."

Eames had them too? The admission churned forth a new set of emotions and awareness, his features softening a little. A small part of him should have felt relieved, but the idea of Eames, who seemed so well-adjusted it bothered Arthur, experiencing the same raw terror was just... unpleasant. Arthur didn't wish that on him, and he wasn't in the habit of feeling empathy for criminals. But it did, in a twisted way, reassure him.

"It's fine -" The automatic response was half out of his mouth before he swallowed it. Eames would see through it the moment Arthur did anything to agitate it, which now included stepping down too hard, if not before then. "It's starting to hurt," he conceded while staring more at the floor than at Eames. Even though Eames knew he was in pain, it was hard to admit it out loud. It had been a few hours, it would be safe to apply more gel, though it was more about comfort than need. "Mind if I grab the kit?" It was easier to meet Eames' eyes now that he was trying to do something about the injury rather than whining.

"Go ahead." Eames nodded towards the closet.

Arthur retrieved the case, frowning at the state of Eames' closet but remaining silent. He flicked it open and realized that Eames' sloppiness extended beyond acceptable levels, but then remembered that Eames had been hasty in packing it up and that it had been Arthur's doing so perhaps it wasn't a fair reflection on Eames. He appointed himself the task of reorganizing the medical supplies, sparing a quick glance around the room for space and finding only the occupied bed. Arthur should have walked out of the room and tidied the kit in his room, but he was reluctant to leave things as they were.

It still didn't feel right, probably because Arthur refused to acknowledge that he had been wrong to bark - except he wasn't, he had every right to want his personal boundaries, late in forming as they were, respected. He'd been forceful, but Eames had proven he had no grasp of the concept that Arthur had no desire to touch or be touched. And now Arthur was back to square one, irritated and unable to deal with it constructively.

He popped open one of the drawers, shifting some of Eames' personal effects around until there was enough of a clearing to empty the kit and sort through it. He rested the case itself precariously on the lip and partially against his chest. The silence sat heavy, even to Arthur, or maybe only to Arthur. "Do we have a destination?"

"Kalidasa," Eames said, having stood to check something on the console. "At the moment, anyway. The Georgia system is also on our way. What are you doing? I thought you wanted the med kit, not to go through my things."

"I'm not going through your things," Arthur curtly replied, "I'm trying to put your kit in some semblance of order. If you had a workspace, I'd be using that, but you don't and I think we've done enough bed sharing to know it doesn't work." Except for the part where it absolutely did, and Arthur stood ramrod straight, fighting not to shiver while his mind vindictively had him relive each encounter, including waking up comfortably nestled against Eames' side and tangled in his legs. He shook his head and packed things back in a bit less gently. In his agitation he'd forgotten to leave out the gel and closed the case, sticking it back in the closet as close to where he'd picked it up as he could. Not that it mattered, considering Eames' laissez-faire policy in regards to his possessions. "Is there a reason we're not headed for Georgia?"

"It's not exactly friendly to Alliance folk," Eames shrugged, all smooth nonchalance, thumbing the tabs of his bracers mindlessly. "And if you do get a ride to Ariel, you might be stuck on a freezer ship for a week instead of a day while it putters along and makes all the stops. Beaumonde ships more electronics so at least they're nicer ships, if more expensive."

Arthur furrowed his brow. He wouldn't have noticed had he not seen Eames slip in and out of characters as though it were nothing, but there wasn't anything he could convincingly pin down as out of character, and for all he knew this was the real Eames and the other a persona. But Arthur recognized a defensive maneuver and Georgia was at least worth looking into once he had the chance.

"An extra couple of days with you, or a week on freezer ship," Arthur responded, adding incremental pressure in the hopes of learning something, or just confirming Eames was dodging, while not putting Eames on the defensive. "I'd have thought you'd be eager to get a federal agent off your ship." Arthur's comfort couldn't have been the only obstacle, Eames probably would have found it amusing if Arthur ended up on a legal shipment of pigs. And considering Eames' own distaste for the Alliance, Hera, Georgia’s biggest shipping port, would have been ideal.

Once again, Arthur lamented the loss of his pad. It was a great deal easier to search the Cortex for information than it was to pick apart someone's defenses. He almost had to wonder how Eames did it, read people as easily as he read books and then Arthur realized this meant he'd have an even harder time. If Eames knew how to read tells, he certainly knew how to mask his own. He wondered if Eames was ever truly honest or at ease, or if he only pretended so that no one dared to look too deeply.

Maybe Eames was every bit as secretive and reserved as Arthur, they just wore very different armor. But that was too much assumption and speculation for Arthur to act on. For the moment he'd play along, in this never ending tit for tat they had embroiled themselves in. "This might be easier to discuss in front of a map," he said, in lieu of simply asking, and poised to move to the console.

A put upon sigh. "Map, here you go. Here's where we are," Eames leaned against the console, pointing. "These are the positions of both of the systems. That's Beaumonde right there and there's Murphy. So it's more of a fork in the road for us. The last chance to change direction would be here, in half a day."

Arthur stood as far from Eames as possible, without compromising his view of the screen. He studied the map carefully and found that Eames was right, there wasn't much of an advantage between Hera and Beaumonde. Except Eames had wanted to keep him from the Alliance for whatever reason, and he had a better chance of stalling Arthur on Hera. Arthur stored the information for another time.

He leaned in for a closer look where Eames pointed and winced as pain flared in his side; that was somewhat humiliating. He wasn't usually so forgetful, but then he decided that Eames was fairly low on supplies and Arthur would have greater need for a numbing agent when he tried to sleep. He drew back with more care.

"Do you have access to flight reports?" Arthur asked, foul taste in his mouth at the reminder he didn't and he'd had access to everything for so long he had no idea what levels of the Cortex civilians were allowed. Not that he was planning on catching a public transport, but for the sake of appearances and the potential argument that Hera was the better choice it was prudent to make inquiries.

He should drop this. If he started digging at Eames skeletons, Eames might take to doing the same and Arthur wasn't ready to go toe-to-toe on so little. But he wanted to know, not for a real purpose, but just... His gaze fell to Eames, and his not-quite right posture. It was too loose or too tight, off somehow, it just wasn't Eames, who had flickered for just a moment, enough for Arthur to feel certain that Eames wasn't as relaxed as he seemed.

"To a point, there isn't exactly a schedule and most people just search the docks for a ship with the same destination that they have in mind. Those don't exactly get updated very well." Eames typed in the keywords he needed, bringing up a small list of preregistered flight plans for Beaumonde. "The traffic on Beaumonde is especially heavy and officials tend to just look the other way for most of it, so they don't have to deal with hundreds of ships. And they have a good brewery over in New Huntsville," he tacked on. The Hera flight list was next. It was mostly commercial craft lining up for the easiest and most organized way to get out of atmo, their names mostly numbers.

"That's all we've got. Many ships don't typically post their itinerary until closer to take off."

Arthur skimmed over the itineraries and found most of it unusable, the differences not something he could convincingly claim gave Hera an advantage. It actually gave Eames a more credible rationale behind opting for Beaumonde if he felt he could land relatively unnoticed. But out of the corner of his eye he thought he caught the beginnings of a smile when Eames looked at the Hera list...

"The flights on Hera look more consistent, I don't want to take chances waiting for a private vessel," Arthur said, firmly committing to Hera, just to see whether Eames would try to sway him, or simply put his foot down. Maybe then he could be direct without coming across as threatening. But then, maybe Eames would concoct a story and leave Arthur with nothing, and Arthur wouldn't be any wiser. He'd still look into Hera once he had the resources, which would, with luck, be shortly after Eames went to sleep.

"There will be plenty of flights heading from Beaumont to the Core, I can't tell you the same thing about Hera." Eames folded his arms, biting down on the toothpick he'd just gotten out of his pocket. "I can't tell you anything about Hera actually. But that hurts though, you'd rather spend an extra week with cows than deal with me?" 

The cows would be less obnoxious and frustrating, Arthur thought and then discarded it as petulant. He could retort with something about Eames wanting to spend more time together, but Eames was already moving on. "It's odd that you're choosing a farmer's planet over a techy world where you can get one of those super upgraded tablets for bulk prices," Eames added on a shrug, gesturing to the Beaumonde list. "There are always shipments of those going to the Core. But you know what, we shouldn't even be arguing about this, because what makes you think it's safe, Arthur?"

Arthur'd already said he didn't want to talk about this and maybe he deserved it for trying to pry, but the anger was there regardless. He'd already had one panic attack, was Eames trying for a second? Arthur face twisted in rage and contempt. Eames was a goddamn asshole for bringing it up again this soon, but Arthur wasn't going to panic this time.

"I have to find out what the fuck happened on Persephone and I need resources to do it. How do we know the hit wasn't a general one against any federal agent? We don't, Eames, so fucking drop it already." Eames didn't have a shred of evidence that Ariel wasn't safe, or that the Alliance had anything to do with it and yet he was going to stand there and imply that the institution Arthur had dedicated his entire goddamn life to had turned on him. For what? "And even if it was Fischer, I'm not going to run because if it's not me investigating him, it's someone else. You might not have a problem leaving your people to die while you hide behind a tree and piss yourself, but I do," he spat.

He regretted it almost the moment it left his mouth and decided if Eames threw a punch he'd take the hit, because God, he hadn't intended to be that cruel.

Eames narrowed his eyes, unconsciously straightening to his full height and taking a good step into Arthur's personal space. "You think I leave people behind do you?" It came out more as a hiss than a proper phrase and Arthur was back on the offensive, quick to match Eames' temper and mask his remorse. He refused to back down, instead tilting his chin up in defiance, sneer still etched in his features. "Alright, Mr. Hale, let's go back in time, shall we? Deal with your own psychological problems, like I had to when it was me and this ship alone somewhere in the emptiness of space. Or maybe I should have just left you to bleed out on the floor, rolling around as the ship took off? It'd be a mess to clean up but hey, there are bots for that. Maybe I could have just told Badger that I have no idea what he's talking about, I just needed a quick and willing fuck, I didn't know it was some federal agent. I could grovel on my knees that he shoot you for his money, just spare me. No, maybe I should have just walked away from your silly charges that you're trying to threaten me with, because I've gotten out of much worse. Who cares if you're heading to your imminent doom, I certainly don't. Just turn around, get on my ship and fly away. Hell, I could have shot you weeks ago, as soon as you passed out in that damn hotel room."

Eames' fingers curled around the front of Arthur's shirt. "But see, I didn't do any of that. Because I knew you were in deep shit then, just as I know you are now. I tried to help instead. And you know what makes it worse? You're not even any kin to me. If I was any other Independent I'd have just spat in your face and walked away. You're some Alliance know-it-all who's naive enough to think that hard work and a salary will keep him in God's coat pocket. Well, welcome to the real world, chum, where people apparently don't give a damn about what you do for them. You can lay down your life for them, let them into heart and home and they'll just stomp all over it with their polished designer shoes. So if you want to spew some rhetoric about leaving people behind, you can get off on the first moon in our path, whether it has docks or not."

"I know you like to play other people, but this just isn't convincing," Arthur sneered. "You didn't kill me that night because you couldn't afford a count of murder on top of theft, don't pretend it was a noble gesture to cover up the fact you don't have the stomach or the brains for it. And I'm sure you grovel real well on your knees with those lips but Badger was pretty set on getting back at you, I was barely an afterthought, so I'm pretty sure I saved your ass just as much as you saved mine back there. Don't get your facts twisted in your fucked up little world where the Alliance is evil because it doesn't give you every toy you want and pat you on the head for being a useless, piece of shit, lowlife! How much did you make on the medicine the hospital would have given freely? How fucking much?" Arthur shot back, resorting to shouting. He wrapped his hand around Eames' wrist, tightening his hold in a warning because Arthur would not hesitate to break it.

"And we made a deal," he continued, "as far as I'm concerned that's all I owe you. Stop acting like you helped me out of the goodness of your slimy black heart and if you thought patching me up was enough to get me to hop in your bed you're a sick bastard and a selfish prick, Eames." Maybe it was too much of an assumption, but the mention of polished shoes and ungratefulness had seemed like a reference to him.

"You want to know what the Alliance gave me? Ten dead friends and a partridge in a pear tree! A neighboring planet torched into oblivion and a valley where more than half a million died, so they stopped distinguishing Alliance from Independence and buried them all in one graveyard in unmarked graves for the families whose children were never found to care for!" Eames only tightened his grip on the shirt, crowding Arthur in, as if daring him to try and break his wrist. "A mother who was dying of a disease contracted from the radiation they used to torch the whole place and made incurable by miles of red tape and insurmountable fees! Permission to piss on a daily basis! And oh, yes, then they patted me on the head and told me to be a good boy and stay out of trouble and everything would be fine. But was it? Oh, no, then they appointed the most pisspoor excuse for a governor ever, who would rather suck the land dry than give anything back to the people. At least a good riot got their heads out of their asses wondering why people were starving to death on one of the most plentiful planets in the Verse. But you know what that doesn't even always work. The second gorramn planet in the system is dying of Bowden's because there's a 狗操的 蛇頭 sitting up in his skyplex above the reaping the profits off the scant amount of medicine they can get out of the Alliance because it's a state of emergency. Not to mention they still charge for it!" He gave Arthur a light shake, gritting his teeth. "But they keep sending maybe seven percent of what they ought to instead of at least sending a rocket to blow the asshole out of his orbit.

"What I earned is none of you fucking business but somehow I'm still out here working with only enough credits to my name to get by when I could have retired. To Bellerophon. Twice. You don't owe me shit but an equal amount of respect that I showed you out of the depths of my murky black heart, filled with the most unimaginable terrors because I don't care to call myself a law abiding citizen would not go amiss. Yet you're awfully quick to assume all I'm after is your ass, probably because you're head is stuck up so deep in it that you think it's actually your universe and the stick is home sweet home. News flash - it's not even close. You're a fed who actually takes the law seriously and fairly, which is more than I can say for anyone else I've met on your side. You're devilishly good at your job, but somehow blind to a whole spectrum of grays in your life. You need to wake the fuck up because the war is over and there is no nameless soldier on the other side of the trench, or cause at your side. There is no us versus them. Everyone is on their own now, with their own motives, be it money or fame and glory."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak and then shut it. He didn't know what to say in the face of any of that, because he knew the Alliance had made some bad decisions with horrific ramifications during the war, but he also knew the Independents would have done the same if given the resources. He decided to start with that.

"Because the Independents never hurt anyone, right? That's why I can go visit my family around the holidays and grab a drink with all of my fellow veterans, right?" he said bitterly, because he lost friends too and it wasn't fair for Eames to throw it in his face like he hadn't been in the middle of the war himself. He pulled Eames' hand off his shirt, tired of being shaken. "There were two sides in that war, Eames, and winning didn't bring anyone back from the dead. And I'm sorry about your mother and I'm sorry about the governor, but shitty people end up in office and that'd be true if the Independents won, so you fucking wake up and stop believing that the 'Verse would be that much better without the Alliance. I'm sorry the world isn't perfect, but just because you only care about yourself doesn't mean that's what the rest of the 'Verse is like." But his voice was softer and he was still holding Eames' wrist, not crushing it or twisting it.

"I don't need your pity," Eames said and it came out bitter as well. "And no, it wouldn't be much better, it would probably be ten times worse because the Independence can't get organized for shit. It's all just a bunch of inspired drivel and little to do. I don't hate the Alliance, either, but they're hardly trustworthy. Hell, this isn't even about the war at all, and nothing I said made any sense, really and I'm sorry you had to listen to all that. I know you've lost people, too, I just want you to believe me for one hot second, that I'm telling the truth and I don't have any secret agenda."

Arthur let the deluge of information settle some more and thought it had to be exaggerated. The Alliance wouldn't let an entire planet die of a treatable disease, not after what happened during the war. He needed to look into this, see the numbers for himself before he said anything about the issue. The will to fight left him, he was tired and hungry, and remembering the war just had him miserable and drained what energy he had left. "You only charged what you needed for the medicine?" Arthur asked, a little dumbfounded. 

Eames lowered his head, pulling away, brushing Arthur's hand off his wrist gently. Arthur released Eames' hand quickly, letting his arm fall at his side. "Forget it, I guess, I mucked that up pretty badly. But yeah, it's medicine, isn't it? Making a large profit of it is hardly noble, I don't have to be swayed by wide crying eyes of sickly children to tell you that. What am I even going to do with that money? Retirement isn't my style. The pigs were expensive, obviously and Rook needed repairs. Otherwise I have enough for fuel for her and fuel for myself, traded the rest. It's enough." Eames gave a half shrug, still looking down.

Arthur tried to process the fact that Eames was genuinely trying to help and had to quell the urge to lift Eames' head because it was absurd, but at the same time he wanted to see his face and it was strange that he could go from pissed to sentimental in so short a span, but Eames was evoking all kinds of firsts and so Arthur went for it. Eames was tactile, or at least more so than Arthur, but Arthur was hesitant still and lifted his hand hand haltingly before resting it against Eames' unshaven cheek. Lightly enough that he could draw back the second Eames indicated he didn't want the contact.

"Well, you're the least selfish thief I've met, then," he offered as a parallel to the half-compliment Eames had paid earlier. Then added, quietly but firmly, "I shouldn't have said that."

Eames froze minutely but didn't move away just turned his head to brush his lips against Arthur's palm. "I do try, darling." Arthur soaked in the affection, the soft lips against his palm almost had him shuddering and it was dawning on him how much he missed such casual displays. Not sexual, but sensual, with no goal other than to touch and then Eames' hand was around his and Arthur's heart thundered because, suddenly, what was this? This was far more alarming than what Eames had done back at the restaurant, or even in the various hotels, because this wasn't for anyone else's sake and it wasn't mocking and it wasn't lust and they weren't... their relationship, while complicated, wasn't...

"And I think the both of us shouldn't have said a whole lot of things. Yet here we are." Eames cleared his throat, sounding awkward, and lowered Arthur's hand a little, keeping it lightly in his, which was still tingling and Arthur didn't know what to do but pull away entirely in a swift jerk. "I... Are you hungry?" Eames asked. "It's around lunchtime already."

"Yeah, we should find something to eat," Arthur said, casting about for his calm facade. Because while Arthur could forgive himself for sleeping with Eames, if he started harboring feelings, that was more than he could handle. He shouldn't have touched him, he didn't want to encourage Eames. He didn't want to grow used to Eames' affections and he certainly didn't want to seek them out.

Eames closed out of the flight rosters before heading out of the room and Arthur trailed after him at a respectable distance, still upbraiding himself. He had been the one to set down lines and demand not to be touched and he should, if no one else, follow his own rules. He closed the hand into a fist, chasing away the sense memory of rough stubble and perfect lips, and just how good a large hand felt holding his own. Arthur took to finding a place to sit while Eames rummaged. "Any ideas or requests?" Eames asked. "I'm kind of feeling some chicken with rice but I'm open to something else."

"That's fine," Arthur answered. He'd never been a picky eater, though he usually favored something quick and light. "You can cook?" he asked, and then realized it had an obvious answer. If Eames spent weeks and months at a time out on his own he had probably mastered the basics in the kitchen. Still, it was a harmless enough topic and they needed harmless and meaningless.

"Nah, I have a stowaway to cook for me. Keep her under here somewhere." Eames chuckled, shaking his head. "And when I give her leave I just pop by the fancy restaurants on each side of the intersystem highways. Of course I can cook." He shuffled about the kitchen, gathering ingredients. "Can't you? Cook I mean?"

Arthur half-smiled at the sarcastic remark, looking away until he could wipe it off. It was a good kind of strange that Eames could bounce back so swiftly. This felt more like Eames at ease than the one looking over flight schedules, which helped settled Arthur too, because it felt less like Eames was conspiring. Though, he obviously hadn't been plotting against Arthur, just avoiding Hera which was seeming more and more like Eames' former home or at least where he'd spent much of his life.

Arthur turned his attention back to Eames, pulling out various things that Arthur couldn't quite make out from his seat at the table. "No," he answered, the same way he would have answered if a stranger or colleague had asked. Arthur wasn't in the business of small talk, but maybe he should try to return some of Eames' honesty and make an effort at conversation, "I never needed to. When I was growing up we had a chef and in the army it was all MREs or whatever someone else made. I don't have time to cook back home, not more than a sandwich or a salad and I have enough credits to dine out, so..."

He let Eames fill in the blank, then asked, "Did you teach yourself?"

"Oh, fancy. Not the MREs, of course, solid blocks of protein-carbohydrate-vitamins as those are. But no, I didn't. My father actually taught me, throughout my whole life. Our household didn't have room for a fancy chef, unfortunately, and everyone had to be able to do everything. Of course, I was very much against it at first, because cooking is for girls. So is sewing. And laundry." Eames rolled his eyes. "I can make things exactly the way I like them. It tastes better to me when I know what's going in and coming out anyway, but that's just to me." He dug around before taking out some plates. "Of course, I don't always have everything I need or I stand around staring at the kitchen trying to think of something I want and sometimes I don't have time, but I like it. Good break from being super manly and everything."

Arthur snorted. "You can save your machimso for someone else," he said lightly.

"I was five, Arthur," Eames wrinkled his nose. "I'm speaking from the past. Machismo is all you have at that point. Or else no one wants to play footie with you. Which would be alright if the girls would ever let you play dolls with them which they also didn't, unless you went to the older ones. Then you were a doll and that was just humiliating, although I think my mum found it hilarious. But my dad loved cooking. He was very good, too. And very patient with bandaging up cut fingers. But then you were obligated to try again. And again. Until you got it right. Same with picking produce at the market which is hard when you're three feet tall. Much easier to haggle with the old ladies who think you're adorable though." The image of miniature Eames forced into a dress and gaudy lipstick had Arthur fighting a smile, and so did the one of him haggling the poor shopkeepers who, doubtless, wouldn't have stood a chance against a wide-eyed, pint-sized version of Eames. Eames paused, looking up from chopping onions. "I know you are apparently used to me doing the talking, but I hope you're asking questions you're willing to answer, yourself."

Arthur's smile faltered. He turned it over in his mind while the sound of chopping echoed, and considered letting the largely one-sided conversation die, because the questions he was asking weren't gathering useful information, there was no purpose other than to pass time, and Arthur wasn't in the habit of giving away his personal history without cause. But then, the fact that Eames was answering any questions at all after how brutally Arthur had used Eames' confessions against him... Well, if Eames had done that to him, Arthur wouldn't have given him another shred of information. He felt he owned a bit of honesty for that, he just hoped Eames wasn't out for vengeance.

"You can ask," Arthur said cautiously, "but I reserve the right not to answer certain questions." He would do his best to be open, but he couldn't say he'd tell Eames everything. He would still leave Eames to dominate the conversation, though. "Did you want to play with dolls or did you prefer football?"

"I'm not going to force you to answer anything you don't want to," Eames said with a shrug, heating up the pan on the stove. "But a hyper active kid like me? Footie, definitely, or running around in the fields and forests, but only if I had someone to share it all with. No fun alone. I was very good at concocting stories for dolls though. Never were such tales of adventure and intrigue told at tea parties ever before. Gave me an edge with the ladies later in life, I have to say. And through them, with the gentlemen." He chuckled again.

Arthur could see it, Eames must have been an absolute terror as a child. Hell, he was still a menace. The mention of his way with ladies and gentlemen, had Arthur slightly embarrassed. He'd been rather taken with Eames' charm as well, and somehow the knowledge he was just one of many didn't sit well. Not that he'd been tricked into bed, if what little he did remember was accurate he'd been an active participant, just that he'd been so easy. And, he did feel a little used, even if it hadn't meant anything to him either and he hardly remembered it.

"Can you tell me more about your parents? Besides where they were from," Eames asked.

Arthur chased the thoughts away, focusing on answering Eames' open ended question. He leaned back, unconsciously creating as much distance as he could.

"My mother was a General, so she wasn't home much, but when she was..." This was a lot harder than Arthur thought. He didn't know what to say that could ever explain his mother, he tried again, "she was strict, but not harsh. She never raised her voice, but she'd get that look. And my father, he was a historian, but he worked from home so he was always around. I used to hate it..." And he was done with that topic for the moment. Evidently he was not as alright with their deaths as he'd assumed, or he was only alright if he never thought about it alongside when they were alive. He cleared his throat, and recovered by sardonically asking, "Do you always skip breakfast with your paramours, or am I special?"

"Oh, you're very special, darling, make no mistake with that. But not usually, no. There was a bit of a mishap with the whole arresting and probably searching my ship part of the night, so I thought it'd be wiser to disappear before you regained the capacity to do so. I'd really only been after your pad, anyway. Also you may have actually bitten my head off on top of all of it and it's one of my best features. Shall I make it up to you with lunch?"

The food was starting to smell wonderful, and Arthur rose from his seat. "Your head is too large to be bitten off. Should I be setting the table?"

"Set the- right!" Shutting off the rice, Eames filled the kettle, setting it to boil before opening the drawer to dig for utensils. "Er, fork or chopsticks?"

"No preference." Arthur started opening drawers in search of a napkin holder, or salt and pepper shakers and wished he could find rhyme or reason for what passed as order. "I can see why you have trouble finding what you need," he commented. Arthur could list the contents of his refrigerator and pantry by alphabet, expiration date, food group, and by what shelf it was kept on. Granted, he probably lacked the variety. He did find an empty salt grinder, perhaps he was close.

"You can call me anal retentive, but Eames, this needs to be organized," he said. "I'll do it myself." He had a few days, he might be able to finish in that time.

"I can find everything I need in short order. What are you even looking for? What do you need except for utensils?" Eames had the bowls out already, putting two pairs of chopsticks on the counter in favor of spooning rice into the bowls. "It doesn't need to be organized Arthur. Clearly I keep it like this just to confuse and confound you. And if you do organize it, you'll just confuse me and I'm the one who needs to be using all of this for the next undetermined span of time." He poured the chicken and sauce out on top of the rice, taking both bowls to the table. "And if you're going to go ahead and do it anyway, because I know you are no matter what I say, you are forbidden to even touch the fridge. Everything there is in it's proper temperature place and ordering everything by color or last letter in its name will not be good for anyone."

Arthur arched a brow, "No napkins, or cups? 筷子座?" Arthur hoped Eames didn't let the tips of his chopsticks rest on the table, but he wouldn't put it past him. He held up the empty grinder, "This doesn't have salt or pepper," he set it on the counter and rummaged through the drawer, pulling out half of a can opener, "this is broken," he set that down as well and continued, "and while you know where everything is, how many drawers do you have to open at a time?" Arthur was certain he could develop a system based on Eames' needs that was twice as efficient and used less space. At least concerning the non-consumable items.

"There are napkins in that cupboard there, if you're that messy of an eater, the tea isn't ready but the cups are right there and why would you need a chopstick rest, are you planning on hosting a formal dinner with several meal courses? Just don't put them down." Eames poked the pairs into the rice of each bowl. "That's the empty one, yeah and as your cook I am mortally offended you want to add salt or pepper to my meal. Soy sauce is mildly acceptable." He headed back over to the cupboards, pulling the bottle out to set on the table. "There's another can opener in the same drawer. Now if you're done criticizing my habits, come sit down before this gets cold."

"It's called courtesy, Eames," Arthur shot back, which neatly answered almost all of Eames' questions. He went and retrieved the napkins, which were half crushed and folded against the corner of the cabinet. He shot Eames an incredulous look once the man was back at the table. "And if there's one in there, why do you still have it? Throw it out," he said, but he was heading to the table. He placed the crumpled napkins down and took a seat where his bowl was set. He noticed the chopsticks didn't match and simply lacked the capacity to be surprised anymore. He picked them up, thankful to find they were relatively the same weight and started in on the chicken and rice, swirling his chopsticks to mix in the sauce.

Part of Arthur wanted to add soy sauce, just to spite Eames, but more of him didn't want to ruin it, because it was far and away better than the protein bars, anemic salads and cold sandwiches he'd been subsisting on lately. He had to consciously pace himself but that may have been due to hunger. "Family recipe?"

"I'll take that as a compliment, darling, but no, it's just regular old fare, known far and wide on most planets." Eames settled down on his chair, picking the bowl up in his hand. "Tell me, what's your favorite food - breakfast, lunch and dinner?"

Arthur's features narrowed in thought and his chewing slowed. He didn't do favorites; whatever food was there in front of him, provided it met a few standards such as being prepared properly, was sufficient. He mulled over explaining that to Eames, but he already picture the scoff and accented _darling, you must have a favorite_ or a disapproving cluck and _how very boring you are_ , and Arthur wanted neither so he stalled by chewing a bit longer before answering. "A banana," he said because he liked those well enough and he wasn't sure if Eames wanted a list of favorite foods at each meal or what he'd eat at any time, but he'd go with the latter because it involved less talking. "What about you?"

Eames snorted, almost choking on his food. "Really, a banana?" he asked, as soon as he was sure nothing went down the wrong throat. "Of all the things, a banana." He shook his head. "You can't possibly subsist on only bananas, darling. That's hardly a meal. I, for instance, like asian prepared noodles and sweets, to take the most general statement. Surely there's a dish you're partial to, Arthur, with all that time spent eating out."

"I don't always have time for more than a banana," Arthur said, suddenly defensive over a fruit he only mildly enjoyed, "and several small meals throughout the day is more efficient than three calorie laden meals. But fine, I prefer French cuisine, _chateaubriand_ if you want specifics." It was a rather indulgent food for him, especially coupled with the potatoes, but he always enjoyed the rich heartiness of a good cut of beef tenderloin coupled with a fine wine. Huh. He had a favorite food, he just didn't acknowledge it, and he honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten it because remotely fresh beef was expensive even for him.

"And you clearly know my name, so could you stop calling me darling?" he asked, waspish since somehow Eames had managed to catch him lying about his favorite food, of all things, and Arthur had a new rule regarding people that altered his perception of himself and that was to treat them as hostiles. He took another bite, and realized that he was being ridiculous. Eames hadn't known and what harm did admitting he had a preferred food do? Arthur was allowed to want things that weren't practical. "Do you want me to get the tea?" he offered, a kind of surrender in it with the hope that Eames would understand Arthur wasn't angry or picking a fight.

"Absolutely not, love." Eames grinned. "I'll get it, before you get lost trying to find the tea. Pet." He put down his bowl and retreated, chuckling.

Arthur glowered. He knew it would only get worse if he brought it up, he remembered thinking that the first time Eames had uttered the word 'darling.' Good to know he was right. "Thanks, asshole," he said. If Eames was going to call him by endearments, Arthur would follow suit with insults. He continued eating, neutral expression back on his face.

Eames returned with the kettle and set on a hot pad on the table. "But alright, any reason for your preference? Did your chef used to cook French food well or often?"

"One of my COs, actually. Mallorie Cobb," he admitted, a little wistful, but avoided going in depth by taking a page out of Eames' book and expanding elsewhere, "Our personal chef cared more about the appearance of the food than the taste. There were dinners where most of the meal was actually garnish, I later found out." He wolfed down a few bites of chicken and rice, "Do you do anything besides cook, read and leave a mess while you travel, dickhead?"

"Ooh, that's unfortunate, pumpkin." Eames took the insults in stride, only grinning more. "A lot of the time is spent tinkering with the engine or planning the next job. There's a dart board because I can't exactly fit a shooting range in here but I mostly ignore it, given I don't typically plan on shooting anyone or anything. You would be surprised how much household work goes in to keep this girl in an acceptable condition. Even more so if we factor in your standards, duck."

Arthur made a face at the persistent stream of pet names. Rising to the bait had been a mistake, he should have stood by his first tact, which had been to ignore it until Eames grew bored. If he didn't react, Eames had no reason to carry on. Matching him only stoked the fires, so to speak.

"You should consider practicing anyway," Arthur said, playing at unperturbed as he finished the last of his rice, "with your grating personality I'm surprised you've survived this long."

"You'd be relieved to know that I'm actually very well liked. By that part of the ‘Verse who knows how to take jokes, anyway. Of course, I also don't make a habit of putting my head on the line." Eames tapped the tips of his chopsticks on the bottom of his bowl, before leaving them be and going to fetch mugs and a box of flapjacks. It was Arthur's turn to scoff, but he let the matter drop. Eames had already proven he could be charming, and seemed to have found a new hobby in testing Arthur's patience. "So this CO of yours. Old flame? To have such a profound influence on your cuisine."

And it seemed everything Eames asked hit a sore spot - Arthur thought he had avoided the question. And perhaps it was less Eames, perhaps this was the reason he preferred not to talk. He could refuse to answer, Eames had respected it when Arthur stopped talking about his parents, but Arthur still felt he owed Eames for the dig he'd got in, and maybe for not trusting him. "No," he answered, not precisely true. He'd been seventeen and she had been older, beautiful, brilliant and deadly - Arthur had been attracted, but only superficially. He'd come to love her as a friend and he discounted his boyhood affections by virtue of the fact that if he'd met Eames at that age, Eames probably wouldn't have been able to be rid of him. "She was just a good leader, her husband too." He absently rubbed at his knee, then froze and tried to make it seem natural again. And then he decided if Eames was going to pry, he should too.

"Why don't you want to land on Hera?"

The question had Eames frowning and rubbing his neck. "There are too many good memories mixed with too many bad." He paused. "But just because you've gotten me to admit that doesn't mean I'm any keener on going there. Beaumonde is just as good a port as Hera," he said immediately, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt absentmindedly.

Eames' answer gave him nothing, but that was only fair considering he hadn't given Eames much either. Arthur had hoped for something more concrete, but considering all that had happened on Hera... He tried to imagine what it would be like to come home from the end of a long war, only the war was still there, in the lay of the land. He watched Eames' attention to his shoulder, unsure if it was an old injury or an itch, but the thought of them as old men with their aches and pains came to mind anyway. "Beaumonde is fine," Arthur said, which had always been true, but he was trying to be nicer by letting Eames know the matter would be dropped.

"Did they have anything to do with your knee? Or is just the memory of war that drags that up? And how is your side, love?"

"It wasn't them," Arthur answered, a hair too quick, but it was a version of the truth. He pulled his hand away to reach for a cup, pouring tea to keep it occupied and away from his knee. "It just hurts sometimes," he said with a slight shrug, "and it's fi- " he shook his head, he was aiming for honesty, "it hurts, but it's manageable. I'd rather have it numbed before I try to sleep."

He leaned back in his chair and sipped his tea, hot but not enough to scald. "Did you play sports in school?" he asked, moving to a safer topic.

"I did, actually, since I'd managed to get into a good school despite being a terrible rebel. The footie games took me out of class sometimes so there was some purpose behind me keeping up my grades. Not that it meant I didn't skip because there's only so much sitting around I can take. Did you? Play sports, skip class?"

Arthur gave Eames a darkly amused smile, "I probably skipped more class than you did, three years to be exact." Technically, he hadn't graduated from high school until after he'd turned 21, cramming the three years he'd missed into one, but that wasn't what Eames had meant. "But, yes. I fenced, ran track, competed in mixed martial arts tournaments. I tried falconry, my advice would be: don't." He smiled at the memory, though at the time it had been terrifying, of a peregrine diving towards his face and his mother gasping in horror. The memory faded, but the smile lingered at the corners.

"Good grief, you must not have had any free time. I am not surprised at all. And I knew it, you totally lied about your age to enlist. Crazy kids, forcing themselves onto the grown ups who have their own problems to deal with."

"I thought I told you," Arthur frowned, that night was far from perfect in his memory, but he had the muted recollection of admitting he had been far too young. Had he dreamed of telling Eames? That was one for his psychiatrist. "And I held my own," he defended, mildly bothered by the implication he'd been a nuisance.

"You didn't, not out right. Just kind of glared at me when I implied it. You do that a lot. Although, falconry? What sort of school has falconry as a sport? Is that even a sport?" Eames' eyebrows flew up in exaggerated disbelief even as Arthur couldn't help but smile, then laugh.

"I know, I know," he offered sagely, and without thought continued, "I almost wanted to stay with it, just because all you had to do was stand and wait, but that bird hated me and I was twelve, so it was almost as big as I was." He sipped his tea. "Were there subjects you enjoyed?"

"I've never actually seen a falcon up close before," Eames continued. "Never needed to, I guess, although I'd bet I'd have loved it. Still probably would. But I liked English. Not so much Chinese. Maths were also pretty fun, but History was a bore. Apparently I would prefer to live it." Eames sighed, waving around his flapjack. "You?"

"I'm surprised you didn't take theater," Arthur responded. He took in a mouthful of tea, and then answered. "Math, or computer science were probably my favorites, but if History wasn't my highest mark I think I would have been disowned." Arthur considered his next question carefully, then posed, "What did you want to be when you were a kid?"

"We didn't have theater, not as a class," Eames said instead of an answer. "Got convinced into one of the plays though, my third year, and found it actually quite enjoyable. Even got to die on stage, that was the best part. I'm not surprised you took so many classes, you seem to overwork yourself a lot. What you don't do a lot it smile or laugh. Suits you more than glaring, I'd say. Makes you look more fetching." Eames leaned back on his chair, grinning into his cup.

All humor drained from his face and he questioned when, exactly, had he shifted from giving Eames the shortest answers possible to smiling and laughing? He didn't like Eames, putting up with and getting along were two vastly different things, and if he started getting along he would probably end up in bed with him. Again. And for the rest of the trip. Because Eames was this impossible thing; clever and unsophisticated, gorgeous and slovenly, an honest liar, and a fair conman. And he thought Arthur was 'fetching'. Arthur couldn't handle this, it was time to stop blurring lines.

"I don't think there was much choice in the matter when I was little," Eames was saying. "'Take over the family ship-tinkering business,' that was what I was raised into. Or be a tailor, but I'm crud at that sort of stuff. If I think of it now though I guess... I don't think I can decide on one thing. If the world was shiny and good I think I'd like to be a writer who travels all over the 'Verse, maybe teach kids from time to time and throw lavish parties." Eames motioned with his tea, almost spilling it. "You?"

"I wanted to be an architect and my parents just wanted me to be something," Arthur said, succinctly as possible. He didn't ask Eames anything, none of it would be useful and he didn't want to humanize Eames any longer. Eames was, above all else, a con artist and a thief and Arthur would arrest him. Developing a fondness was not in the cards. He finished his tea and got up to start cleaning the dishes, bringing his plate and cup to the small sink and starting the tap.

He rolled up his sleeves and set to work on washing out his mess, then moved on to the cookery Eames had left sitting on the stove, scrubbing that in silence as well. He could feel Eames watching, but didn't turn around or snap because then Eames would say something smart and they'd be back to arguing, which was as bad as conversing in Arthur's mind. He didn't want animosity, anyway, indifference was best. He focused on cleaning; lather, rinse, repeat. No thoughts, the work was enough of a distraction.

He glanced at the table and decided Eames could wash his own bowl, Arthur had done enough. Midway through drying, Arthur realized he only had the faintest idea of where Eames kept things and he wasn't going to organize now so he left the kitchenware next to the sink for Eames to deal with. He started for his room, maybe he could spend the rest of this flight reading. Eames still said nothing and Arthur was thankful for it.

One book was not going to be enough to occupy him, that much was obvious, but Arthur was made keenly aware of it as he found himself nearing the last few chapters. He had even tried to read slow, taking in as much detail as he could. It had taken him a while to get into the story and out of his own head and he occasionally jarred himself when he shifted the wrong way and aggravated his side. But he'd managed to keep still and thoroughly absorbed until the tantalizing smell of food wafted into the room.

Arthur sniffed at the air, but was unable to identify what Eames was making. He frowned. They hadn't exactly worked out eating arrangements. He was certain Eames would grant him access to the kitchen - he wouldn't starve Arthur - but Arthur could hardly expect Eames to cook every meal for him. And he didn't feel like venturing to find out, when he could avoid Eames entirely and prepare himself something. Noodles of some kind, Arthur knew how to boil water at least.

That smell though... It was almost enough to make Arthur wish he hadn't decided against spending time with Eames. His stomach whined unhelpfully, and Arthur tried to concentrate on the book. Eames had in all likelihood prepared dinner with only himself in mind, which was practical and deserved. Arthur had shut him out and Eames had doubtlessly noticed.

Arthur jolted at a thump against his door and cursed loudly when pain flared as a result. He set the book down and crossed the room to open it and find out what had bumped against it. Instead he found Eames, holding two plates of what looked like salmon. Arthur furrowed his brow and panned his gaze back up to Eames.

"This isn't necessary," he said, unsure how he felt about Eames cooking for him and bringing it to him so he remained impassive.. The food smelled even better up close and his stomach emitted another whine, which Arthur hoped wasn't audible. 

"Nothing is ever necessary," Eames said by way of explanation and shrugged, offering the plate. "Do you want me to bring the med cream? You sound a bit in pain."

Arthur nearly didn't accept the plate, just to show Eames he'd rather be left alone, but it looked good and Eames had clearly made an effort. He took it, but instead of saying thanks as he ought to for both the meal and the concern, he snapped, "That makes no sense. And I already told you; no, I'd rather apply it later. Stop asking."

He glanced down at the food again - it was poached and breaded salmon with some potatoes as a side and Eames had brought his own dish as well. Did he expect Arthur to invite him in, or was he dropping Arthur's off before heading to his quarters? And why the hell was he making dinner for Arthur? "I can take care of myself," he said, which addressed both his grievances.

"Right. Well." Eames looked away. "Of course you can. However, I am in change of this ship and you are not allowed near anything flammable out of safety precautions. Now eat. You know where the sink is. You know where the med kit is. Good night," he said, then turned to leave.

Arthur's face twisted into a dark scowl. Safety precautions his ass and then for Eames to order him to eat? Eames couldn't make him and Arthur was determined to prove it. He left his room just as Eames did, swiftly making his way into the kitchen and- He couldn't actually bring himself to trash the food, so he floundered for a moment before putting it on the counter. But then he couldn't just leave it to spoil, so he started hunting for foil, saran wrap, tupperware, anything.

"What are you doing?" Eames was still there apparently. "I swear to god, Arthur, if you're going to do something as childish as throw it out, I will actually smack you. Leave it if you don't want it. There's barely two weeks of planned food here for one. There's no room to be so wasteful."

Arthur froze, because really, what was he doing? He stood up from his crouch at the bottom cabinet and gripped the counter tightly without bothering to look at Eames, instead staring intensely at the plate. "Why the fuck would you make French food, Eames?" he hissed as realized why it unsettled him so badly. It was a combination of factors, but primarily the fact that Arthur could only guess at Eames' intentions. Was he being kind and Arthur was spitting in his face? Was he trying to manipulate and forge some bond between them? And Eames was just standing there, watching Arthur, who had resorted to acting like a fucking kid because he'd been treated like one.

He took a deep, steadying breath. Eames just made him feel so irrational, so incompetent. Arthur did not appreciate it and he didn't know how to act.

"Why did I...? What? Because it was dinner time and you mentioned you liked French food! Is that a crime now, too? Am I supposed to tune out everything you say? 耶穌, Arthur, it's just food, not a time bomb, see?" Eames gestured to his half eaten fish with his fork. "Look, I'm sorry I used that tone with you, but I don't understand what you think I'm trying to do here except prolong your survival by not having you starve to death. If you have some problem with talking, fine, we don't have to, we can make these couple of days as unpleasant as you'd like it to be but you have to tell me. Just say, 'Eames, I think you are a repulsive git and I'd rather not see you more than I can help it until we get to Beaumonde.' And I'll just mind my own business as best I can in cramped quarters! It's as simple as that."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably and didn't know what to say. When put that way, he felt even more paranoid and ridiculous. And he should say the words, parrot them back viciously and thus ensure he didn't end up inappropriately close to Eames. But his smile was so much nicer than his scowl...

Arthur frowned tightly, remembering that Eames had said something similar about him, which was how they ended up here: Eames glaring, Arthur feeling supremely guilty and foolish.

He picked up his fork and took a bite of the salmon, then lifted the plate and turned to leave without committing one way or the other. Because he didn't want to talk, but he didn't want to not talk either. "Can I get the med gel?" he asked so he wouldn't have to enter the cockpit later.

Eames let out a noisy breath. "Yeah, sure." He turned, walking to his room, not paying attention if Arthur was following or not.

Arthur caught sight of the music box again as Eames dropped his plate on the bed next to it and began to wonder if Eames had told the truth. He had no reason to lie: he'd shaken Arthur off his trail on Ariel and if he never set foot there again, Arthur doubted he could do much to him unless he planned on chasing him through the 'Verse. Arthur had bigger problems than Eames, however, and he'd be stretching his resources thin if he took on an intersystem chase. So why the hell would Eames try to befriend Arthur? What benefit did Eames see in fostering a friendship with a federal agent?

He slid the plate onto the palm of one hand to free the other and take the tube Eames offered him. He couldn't come up with an answer other than Eames enjoyed fucking with people. "Thanks," he said, flatly, then turned and headed back to his room, where he finished the salmon - annoyed to find it tasted as good as it smelled - and continued reading. He explored the room again, rifling through Eames' things but he didn't come across anything he could use so he went back to the bed. Eventually, the pain his side started to eat at him and he gave up on soldiering through it. Arthur slipped the glove on and squeezed out some of the gel, then he lifted his shirt with the other hand and carefully rubbed it on before peeling the glove off and finding a place for the tube where he could reach it. There wasn't much left but it would do for now.

Arthur started to re-read the book, half listening for Eames and after what felt like a few hours of silence, he got out of the bed, picked his plate up and quietly headed for the kitchen. He didn't see Eames anywhere although the cockpit light was on as he hurried past it without looking inside. He left his plate in the sink and as silently as he could manage made his way to the storage room. He ducked in and set to work on digging through the only slightly less chaotic piles of odds and ends.

There wasn't much. If he'd had a few other key parts, there was a radio, but as it stood Arthur could not operate it. It didn't take long to realize it was an exercise in futility but Arthur persisted as though he could will something into existence. And there must have been a vibration, because suddenly some of the spare parts were crashing to the ground in a deafening roar. Arthur took off like a shot, trying to make it back to his room before Eames could catch him.

"What was that? What were you doing in there?" Eames was awake, clearly.

Damn, Arthur thought, stopping short to avoid toppling them both over. It looked like Eames hadn't been asleep either considering how quickly he got to the storage room. "I was trying to find something," he answered coldly, then added in a challenge, "or am I not allowed in there either?" He still felt cagey, being told what to do and what he couldn't do. Perhaps if he trusted Eames it would have been fine, but he didn't and they weren't even on the same side. They'd had a temporary truce on Persephone and while Arthur had almost no power here - not without resorting to physical violence - they were still a federal agent and a criminal.

"You're not allowed to sneak around. Since you seem not to trust me so I'll do you the same favour. What did you want in there?" Eames asked again, pressing. "Not to mention you made a bloody ruckus."

"I refuse to answer," Arthur asserted and then altered his stance for better footing, not an outright aggressive move but definitely a warning if Eames picked up on it. He didn't bother to deny that he caused the commotion.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Arthur, this isn't a court case. Pleading the fifth will only get me angry." Eames folded his arms. "Now tell me what you were doing. In my storage. In the middle of the... When you were supposed to be sleeping."

"No." Arthur said, though he has realized this was a tremendously bad idea, because Eames might not kill him but Arthur had a feeling Eames wasn't above locking him somewhere, or following through with his earlier threat and leaving him to rot on some moon. "And you don't get to decide when I sleep, asshole."

Arthur lost his self-preservation instinct during the war and now he was pushing just to see how far Eames would go.

Eames' face darkened but he remained unimpressed by the attempts to get a rise out of him starting again in a level voice: "No is not an acceptable answer. Don't change the subject. Arthur," he prompted again. "What are you looking for?"

Arthur's coiled and bunched muscles started to relax. That Eames calmly dictated his terms and his question remained consistent brushed up against a need Arthur hadn't felt in a long time, and then as quickly as his guard had dropped it was back up, because he would not go there with Eames. "We're done here," he asserted, trying to grasp at control he didn't quite have. He stepped forward and tried to move Eames aside.

"Arthur, I know I try to play as nice as possible and that may have led you to believe I'm a pushover. Unfortunately, this is not actually the case. Tell me. You can lie if you you want," Eames said as he stood his ground.

"A pair of boxers," Arthur lied tonelessly as he stepped back, unwilling to be the first one to shove. Not that he wouldn't need more clothing, but if he had to give an answer he was going to make it obvious he was lying, just to see if Eames would stick to his word or if Arthur's mistrust had basis.

"But of course. And here I thought you were more of a brief man." Eames shook his head and sighed but let it drop, moving back and out of Arthur's way. "Clothes are in my room," he added, lightly, heading into the storage to fix the mess Arthur had made. Arthur almost followed Eames, just to ask him why, if he didn't trust Arthur, was he allowing him to enter his room. And maybe there wasn't anything of real value, and Arthur couldn't go very far... and maybe that answered everything. Arthur turned around and crossed the walkway, making enough noise for Eames' sake until he reached the cockpit.

The music box was still in the middle of the bed, but Arthur ignored it for the moment and started in on the drawers, setting aside the most muted patterns and colors that were close to his size. Eames seemed to have a collection, including a few cardigans that looked like they'd be too small for someone as broad chested as Eames. Arthur figured they wouldn't be missed. The trousers would never fit, he'd have to ask about a belt, but he could sleep in just boxers and ask after he'd attempted sleep.

He folded the clothes and draped them across his arm before he walked toward the door. He glanced at the bed again. He could check for himself, the tools were right there and it wasn't sneaking. Eames knew where he was and what he'd left out. If Arthur found the tracker he'd know, for certain, that Eames had an agenda. If he didn't, well, it could mean Eames had disposed of it. Arthur thought it was worth a look anyway and headed for the bed. He tried to dismantle the box as delicately as possible, eventually surrendering to the need to place the clothes on the floor and sit in the bed for the betterment of his dexterity.

"Found anything?"

Arthur startled when Eames entered and chose to retain the tension is muscles, watching Eames warily. But Eames didn't appear angry, nor did he demand Arthur leave so Arthur focused on his work again. "Careful," he warned when Eames picked up a piece, and then answered while concentrating on attaching the spring-housing. "I've found that these are harder to put together than take apart." The delivery was dry, and out of his mouth before Arthur had fully considered it.

"Yeah, no kidding." Eames put the piece back where Arthur had put it before, making sure it was in the same orientation.

Could they joke like that? Could they keep going from hostile to neutral and back again? Arthur couldn't, didn't want to, he wanted concrete. His gaze flicked up to Eames. Arthur had not discovered a tracker, or its remnants, so there was a chance Eames was being honest. "I'm going to arrest you, no matter what we are to each other," he said firmly, "do you still want to talk to me?"

"I'd like to see you try, darling," Eames smiled. "As soon as you catch me doing something naughty, you can go ahead, slap your handcuffs on me and bring me to as much authority as you deem necessary." He shoved his hands in his pockets, grinning at the innuendo. "But until then, you have nothing on me, I have nothing on you. Well, there's maybe the breaking and entering that you specifically witnessed me do but please. So if that's what's bothering you I suggest you forget it."

Arthur settled, between the cocksure challenge, the return of 'darling,' and that overconfident smile he was just... relieved. More sure. Even the innuendo helped, though Arthur snorted at and rolled his eyes in response. He saw no need to admit he had pictured Eames in a few different handcuffed positions; Eames would probably take it as a compliment.

Arthur smirked, "Eames, you admitted to a known federal agent that you smuggled pigs, that would be enough to hold you for investigation, and be used as evidence of character. Should I fetch the cuffs, or can it wait?"

He turned his attention back on the tiny screws, but his sly grin remained.

"Your word against mine, since there are no cameras or listening devices on this ship. I will deny - cross my heart and hope to die - that I said nothing of the sort. I may have mentioned my love of pig figurines at one point in time, but nothing more."

"I'm sure I could find something before the paperwork for your release went through," Arthur responded, a little distracted with delicate work. "My word carries more weight." He was relatively certain he had it right and he motioned toward a piece near Eames. "Hand me that and the screws."

"Little more. All my clues are long buried, I made sure of it. Especially in that bureaucracy." Eames squatted for lack of room to sit on the bed and handed over the piece, holding the screws in his palm for Arthur to take as needed.

Arthur looked at him again, lifting his head enough to meet Eames' eyes. And he considered the clothes he found, and the argument they'd had earlier. Maybe it hadn't been Arthur's designer shoes that had stomped around ungratefully. "You have quite an assortment of apparel," he commented, tipped with curiosity. For all Arthur knew it was just a collection of leftovers from various charmed ladies and gentlemen that Eames had been too lazy to sort through and get rid of.

"I've been told I have eclectic taste before, you don't need to tell me again. Fortunately I can actually match colors and patterns and am not allergic to them, like some people I might mention. Also a little bit is left over from the half a crew member I had at one point. If that was a lesson in anything is that I work far better on my own. I might have kicked him off before he got all his things together but I've never seen him again."

Arthur smiled in amusement at Eames' description of his fashion choices. "You may not be allergic, but anyone with sight and taste is going to have a reaction. A visit to a tailor wouldn't be uncalled for," he retorted, features gone stern at a troublesome fitting. He was sure that went where he had it, he'd only taken it apart a moment ago.

"Half?" Arthur repeated as the rest of what Eames said parsed. "What prompted that?" If Eames could tolerate a temperamental agent, Arthur would like to know what he couldn't. The piece finally slotted into place and Arthur plucked out a screw, lining it up and reaching for a smaller screwdriver. Eames seemed content to crouch, so Arthur didn't offer to move for fear of Eames reading into it.

"Tch, if only to make the shirts fit better. Just because you don't appreciate the color salmon, doesn't mean I'm willing to give it up." Soon most of the pieces would be used up and he could sit. Although while Arthur was screwing the little bit, Eames took the initiative and carefully relocated everything two feet to the side, making sure he wasn't messing up any order and sat gingerly, still holding out his palm with the screws. "And, well, forgetting you wallet at a crime scene is pretty bad for business. Any sort of business. But it wasn't so much that as... Some people come out of the army and they're still waiting for orders. Not an iota of personal creativity in their brains. It's impossible to work with."

Arthur stopped and watched Eames climb into the bed, holding the fragile pieces tightly while mattress dipped under Eames' bulk before handing it all off. "If you wore a salmon shirt that fit, I wouldn't have any complaints, but when it's ill-fitting and paired with pants that are equally appalling..." he quipped returning to his self appointed task, taking the next screw once they were settled. Arthur flinched at the comment about following orders, but he couldn't stomach asking whether that was a dig at him or not. "Do you prefer to employ people that don't follow orders?" he asked, a touch sarcastic. Roaming aimlessly didn't appeal to Arthur, and Eames' opinion didn't matter.

"Yes, well, not everyone has the time or money to let people with pointy needles near their inseam. Or try on every shirt in a store, either. I should really have picked up sewing, shouldn't I? If just to placate the judgement of the snobbishly dressed." Eames sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "And it's not that. Although you don't listen to me at all and I put up with you. But on a job, I just would appreciate it if they didn't wait for a hand signed invitation to do something. I didn't have to tell you to put that gun to Badger's head, did I? Or to threaten the driver into giving up his mule." He shrugged. "Of course, rushing ahead without thinking isn't good either. It narrows my options but it's just easier for me to work on my own."

That made more sense, Eames didn't want the burden of issuing commands in the middle of a crisis. "It's not elitism, I like the aesthetic and wouldn't be taken seriously in anything oversized and salmon."

"I seem to take you seriously in oversize and white, should I stop?" Eames grinned, dropping his hand to his knee, still holding it palm up.

"Well, you've seen me use a gun."

"I've also seen you drunk off your ass. And pretty much naked."

"You've seen a lot of me," Arthur admitted, more than he liked he didn't add. Though, ‘pretty much naked’... That was telling. He had woken in his undergarments, so it made sense, Eames probably wouldn't have taken care to dress him before taking his leave. That still left plenty of activities, however. "What happened that night?" he finally asked, he might as well, it would be one of the least embarrassing things he did in front of Eames.

"Uh," Eames started gracefully, then furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm sure you assumed all sorts of depravity, actually, no, I know you assumed all sorts of depravity, but... Nothing, really? You clonked out within minutes. I just took your clothes off to mess with you. Not exactly my best moment, but I was pretty drunk myself."

"Nothing?" Arthur repeated, dropping the screws into Eames' waiting hand and fighting down irritation. And Eames purposely scattered his clothes all throughout the room. That meant that Arthur had wasted time and money on getting himself checked out. "Asshole," Arthur bit out as he finished with the cylinder. Then it sounded like he was angry that hadn't actually had sex, which was not the case, so he felt the need to clarify, "You owe me three hundred credits, and a sock." Though that made it sound like he ruined on sock on Eames' behalf, and no, he hadn't. He'd just had a few lurid dreams that lead to cold, cold showers. "I couldn't find it before I had to leave the hotel room."

"You sound disappointed. I could only imagine what you thought up to fill the gaps." Eames snorted. "I don't deny being an asshole. But no one asked you to check out of my room, dear. Although I think one of the socks had fallen behind the chair, which is why you missed it. But, look, now you have a percentage of all my clothes." He gestured to the pile near their feet. "Is that fair enough for you?"

"I could tell you what I'm fantasizing right now," Arthur offered with a tight smile that suggested Eames wouldn't find it pretty. "And that wasn't for checking out, that was for the medical screening I had done." Arthur had no issue if it had been his fault, but Eames had tricked him into believing they'd had intercourse - which was a large part of why he'd let Eames get away with certain things. Hell, he'd almost ended up actually sleeping with him back on Persephone. If he looked hard enough he could probably find the bite he'd left behind. On the other hand, he hadn't slept with Eames. He could still avoid crossing that line.

"Oooooh," Eames drawled. "Does it involve handcuffs?" Arthur glared rather than respond - of course Eames would deliberately misinterpret.

He started picking through the possible replacement parts Eames brought, discarding the ones that wouldn't fit. He set the half-formed device in the box and focused on trying out scraps to see if he could get them to work. "Anything else I should know about that night?" he asked.

"I don't remember anything of real importance. You did absolutely love my tattoos. Should I know anything? Be fearing for my safety every time I take off my shirt?"

Arthur felt his face heat up, because while he wasn't precisely ashamed of his fondness for Eames' chest, he didn't care for having it brought up either. "I've kept my hands to myself, you're the one making the advances," he retorted.

"Ah, she blushes. Oh, but of course. Prim and proper and not a complete octopus in bed, eh?" Eames chuckled, warmly.

"Eames," Arthur said flatly, masking his indignation as best he could, "Stop talking."

"Absolutely not, I'll only stop talking when I'm dead or occupied, it's a character flaw."

"Were you in the war together, then? With your half a crew member?" Arthur said to change the topic, trying to find the comb he'd lost track of when Eames moved everything.

"Nah. No one who was with me in the war made it out. I knew him from before. Trustworthy, hardworking, knew his way around an engine but apparently all the will he ever had was shell shocked out of him. Pity. Good guy. I hear he's mixed up in some top security project in the Core now so hopefully he's doing well. Which bit are you looking for?"

Arthur went quiet at Eames' admission that no one with him had survived, but Eames moved on and Arthur wouldn't be the one to bring it back up. He let himself be impressed when Eames mentioned his friend was employed in the Core, to go from thieving in the Border and Outer Rim to a security project in the Core couldn't have been easy, especially if he had been an Independent. Arthur narrowed his eyes, Eames said he hadn't seen him, but perhaps they'd been in contact some other way. If Eames had a friend on the hospital security team... Arthur wondered if he could get a name to run.

"How did he take leaving?" Arthur asked, hoping that eventually Eames would stop using pronouns to address him. "And the comb, that's chipped. If you want this to play you'll need a replacement."

"Is it?" Eames held it up to the light. "Darn, and here I thought that if I just reconnected the turning mechanism it would be fine. Guess not. Well, might as well put it back in anyway." He handed it off. "And well, I did throw him out. He spent most of the time trying to apologize but there was a bit of a strict schedule to keep if we weren't planning on getting caught. But hey, it worked out, even if he's just sitting in an office somewhere now. Don't know if he actually gets out much of whatever compound they're keeping him in but it works in his favor."

If Eames friend was at a compound, that killed that lead. It had been a shot in the dark anyway. He took the comb and set it in place; he had to or the rest of the parts wouldn't fit. "You aren't wrong, that is also malfunctioning, but I don't know how to fix it." He moved on the cylinder, and grabbed the next two screws, holding them carefully between his lips as he lined the parts up, then screwed them in place.

They lapsed into silence for a bit before Arthur was unable to check a yawn. He sagged, because he was tired, but he could feel restlessness already clawing at him and he knew the likelihood of peaceful dreams was slim. He set down the bits of metal he had been holding, and asked, "Do you have any sleep aids?" His were in the second right pocket of his suitcase in a hotel at the Eavesdown Docks. He vaguely wondered what would become of his stuff, if Nash would haul it away to be locked up as evidence until Arthur returned to claim it, along with his ID, and credit cards.

"I don't have any pills, unfortunately. They don't work on me so I don't keep them around. Only thing that helps is a warm body to prove that there's someone at least someone still alive in this place." Eames shrugged. "There might be some in the med kit, perhaps - I don't make a habit of looking in it." He lifted the music box off Arthur's lap so he could stand, depositing it in his own.

There weren't any in the kit, Arthur would have seen them when he repackaged it. He scooted towards the edge of the bed and readied himself to stand. "Are you going to be able to sleep?" Arthur asked, because if that was all that helped, and Eames traveled alone, did he just work himself to exhaustion? That had to take a toll.

"Not likely. Not anymore than three hours at a time, anyway. I got myself a precious good night's sleep last night along with the hour of napping before then, so I should be alright on my own. Better than the usual, anyway. Won't have to do sets in the cargo hold."

Arthur rose from the bed, collecting the clothes off the ground as Eames talked, proving his claim. He raised a brow at the mention of a good night's sleep. Eames had enumerated the benefits of sharing a bed enough times that Arthur believed him, which meant Eames had Arthur to thank for being well-rested, and yet he was giving Arthur a hard time about it. "A good night's sleep despite the octopus, right?" he asked, sarcastically, then realized he was lingering and quickly headed for the door. "Weights in the cargo hold?" he inquired, seeking permission and confirmation, then he remembered his stitches and grimaced. "Nevermind."

"Are you fishing for a thank you, Arthur? Because I could remind you I had to narrate you into relaxing," Eames smiled as he said it. "But, yeah, I wouldn't recommend you take any pages out of my book while you're healing." He picked up one of the little pieces, starting an attempt to bend it into a fitting shape for the music box. "Good night."

Arthur bristled, because no, he hadn't been seeking appreciation, he'd only meant to point out that Eames could hardly complain about him being an octopus if it helped him sleep. And because that little reminder was yet another crowning moment of embarrassment. "Night," he said, a little terse, and beat a hasty retreat to his room.

He set the clothes on the bed and set to work rearranging the drawers to free up space, and once that was done he put them away and moved on to changing into a pair of sweatpants and a ratty tee, which probably looked ridiculous in conjunction with slicked back hair. Arthur bit the bullet and pulled out the sink to wash the gel out, otherwise he'd end up with flattened hair in certain areas and cowlicks in others.

Arthur tucked himself into bed, finding it cold compared to sharing the bed with Eames and they had only been sitting. It was probably because it was the cockpit, the console must have put out heat. He hit the lights on the panel by the bed, a convenient feature, and tried to sleep. It came in starts and stops, with Arthur dozing one moment and bolting upright and panting the next.

It was Eames. Arthur kept dreaming that Eames had been shot, that he hadn't made it inside the ship.

After a few hours, Arthur gave up. He wished he'd thought to snag another book, but he hadn't, and it wasn't worth the risk of waking Eames to go and fetch one now. Arthur peeled the bandage aside to check the graze, it looked fine, and he decided that going down to the cargo bay and sticking with something light wouldn't be a problem. He didn't bother to change, sweatpants and a shirt were adequate, he just slipped his shoes on and left for the bay.

He barely got a good look around before "Want me to spot you?" resounded from the bare metal walls.

Arthur craned his neck and found Eames near the top of the stairs and he felt a strange sense of solace. He'd known, logically, that Eames had survived and was arguably in better shape than Arthur, but seeing him safe and whole was something of a balm. Which was sentimental bullshit that needed to stop, if Eames was creeping into his dreams to torment him Arthur needed to reevaluate the situation. He didn't want to add another face to his nightmares.

"I'm not doing anything heavy," he declared. He had already tried ignoring Eames and he hadn't enjoyed it anymore than Eames had seemed to. Not to mention, if he stopped communicating with Eames now, he'd have to deal with the fact he was avoiding Eames because he was scared. And Eames would probably smell that on him. He sifted through the weights and reconsidered lifting. Ten pounds wouldn't do much for him, twenty could be too much, and Arthur wasn't much of a weightlifter to begin with, he had only meant to occupy himself.

Arthur looked up at Eames again. "Would you spar instead?" If they kept it light and Arthur didn't try to overexert himself in a competitive rage it would be fine. Of course, Arthur wasn't sure how much, if any, hand-to-hand combat Eames knew. Well, Arthur could give lessons.

"Spar?" Eames tilted his head, considering it. "Sounds like fun," he shrugged, descending the stairs and buttoning his shirt in the process. "I do know a little boxing," he tucked his head to demonstrate, hands automatically coming in front of his face, mostly relaxed. "Not that I've even had a fair fight in years."

Arthur wasn't quite as versed in boxing as he was in other forms of combat, he knew some of the rules from the occasional match he'd watch and he knew some basic punches and jabs, but he rarely depended on one fighting style. Eames might have been a weight-class above him, but if they were only sparring Eames wouldn't be relying on heavy hits which was probably his only advantage. Eames neared, almost immediately throwing a pulled uppercut.

Arthur reflexively stepped back and fell into a mirroring stance, palms open to catch the next fist. He was a little bothered that the strike might have landed if Eames had actually aimed for his face instead of a bit to the left. "We going to discuss rules first?" he quipped, some irritation bleeding through. Eames had said he hadn't been in any fair fights recently, he hadn't mentioned unfair.

"Rules? I wasn't planning on actually attempting to land anything." Eames took half a step back, dropping his hands slightly. "But you mean besides the obvious? No biting, scratching, hair pulling, or below the belt? You can hit me if you want to, I think I can take it, but try not to completely incapacitate me please. There's a ship that needs flying. And I think that about covers it. Come on, Arthur. Ain't a turn based game. Don't stall. I want to see what you can do." He grinned again, bouncing on the balls of his feet, bringing his palms back up.

"Light contact is fine," Arthur said to ensure Eames knew what he could handle, then his eyes narrowed at the goading. He considered kneeing Eames in the stomach, which was technically within the rules Eames outlined, but discarded it. He would fight fair as long as Eames did. He feinted a left punch with a wide arc directly at Eames' face and swiftly stepped closer to attempt a soft uppercut on the right in the same movement. It rendered his side vulnerable, but not the injured one, so Arthur thought the risk was worth it. He didn't know Eames' style, but considering the speedy footwork he wasn't a brawler, so crowding him might work.

"Is it ever," Eames tucked his chin, attempting to catch the wide hit and instead ending up leaning back to avoid the real one. He took a step back, grinning, before shifting his shoulders to the left, circling. A step forward and he led with his elbow, rotating from his waist in an attempt to land a pulled punch to Arthur's middle.

Arthur stepped into the hit rather than move back and lose the inside advantage. It was far from a devastating blow and he assumed neither of them were keeping a score. He tried for a flurry of pummels to Eames midsection, where he wouldn't have to compromise speed to avoid injury as he would if he aimed for the head. They landed. He'd have to monitor Eames' footwork and step with him, if he could get Eames into a tight spot, pinned to the crates perhaps, and prevent him from slipping away Arthur was confident he'd have Eames bested. He just had to be careful not to wear himself out.

Eames coughed, which halted Arthur for the breadth of a second because he didn't want to cause actual damage, and then elbowed at his collarbone and Arthur had to back-step unsteadily. Eames knocked into his foot and Arthur had to surrender another step to regain his footing and avoid crashing to the ground. He drew his arms up and his shoulders hunched, circling Eames before throwing a jab as he took a step forward to cover lost ground but Eames circled as well, throwing light pinches and stepping back as soon as they made contact.

Eames had figured him out then, if he wasn't letting Arthur direct him into a corner. Arthur let out a soft grunt at a strike to his ribs, twisting away on instinct rather than seizing the opportunity to keep crowding Eames. "How long did you say it's been?" Arthur asked, more to distract Eames while he tried to round on him and herd Eames closer to the crates.

"Said fair fight, meaning without the element of surprise, not equal fight." Eames misstepped, backing up more than he meant to before quickly compensating by taking a step closer instead, ducking in the other direction before he pushed Arthur's shoulder with his hand as soon as he was within arm's length.

The elbow Arthur had let slide as a product of limited space, but if Eames was disregarding the rules of boxing entirely by shoving him, Arthur felt no qualms about grabbing Eames' wrist and striking at the soft juncture between Eames' shoulder and his chest, perhaps a bit more aggressively than what was warranted.

A grunt and surprise quickly turned to a grin as Eames twisted out, holding off to shrug his shoulder back into place and grabbing Arthur's hand in turn, using his own momentum to turn him around, trying to shake the hand off his wrist. "Now we're talking-" Arthur held fast to Eames' wrist, even as his arm contorted, rendering the hold weak and ineffective. Eames still had his other arm, so Arthur didn't have enough leverage to elbow him. Arthur bent at the waist, sending them both to the floor and lunged, trying to straddle Eames and pin his arms over his head before the man could get up, or roll them over and trap Arthur instead. So much for boxing, then, if they were going to grapple with each other on the floor.

Eames pushed his hand into Arthur's shoulder, keeping him at arm's length but Arthur refused to budge, leaning over a bit more for a better opportunity to catch Eames' other hand. Eames had a higher chance of unseating him, but if Arthur had him at the wrists it could end this match. He smirked as he looked down at Eames. "A fair fight would have been more of an advantage for you," Arthur taunted, not yet breathless but close.

"Who said I wanted to win? Boxing is dull by itself." Eames was breathing hard, grinning again.

"If you don't want to win what's the point?" Arthur asked. Since Eames hadn't bothered to throw him off, Arthur worried less about keeping him pinned at the waist, and focused instead on the arm he'd yet to successfully capture.

"It's not the destination that matters, darling. Here I thought we were just practicing." Eames did buck up slightly this time but Arthur had caught his other hand. "Your win this time. Fancy another round?"

It was only after both of Eames wrists were pinned that Arthur realized how terribly close this was to images he'd tried very hard not to imagine, and as Eames bucked again and asked him if he wanted another go... All Arthur wanted to do was wipe that smug expression off his face. But, Eames hadn't actually made an advance and he couldn't have known that this was one of a few handcuffed positions Arthur had dreamed about. "What makes you think I'm interested if you're going to quit halfway through?" he asked, because it was probably his sexually frustrated imagination and Eames had meant exactly what he said, and if Arthur ducked away the reason would be obvious. And he wouldn't be mocked for thinking Eames had been coming onto him, Eames would no doubt claim Arthur was projecting or something in that vein and Arthur did not want that.

"Oh, are we not done yet?" Eames licked his lips. Arthur swallowed. And then Eames moved underneath him again and Arthur had to bite his lower lip to keep quiet and wished Eames hadn't seen that. "Is this going to take on a wholly different direction?"

He registered Eames' question belatedly and released Eames wrists as he scrambled to pick himself up. "No," he said quickly and sounded almost contrite, because that could have been Eames' way of asking to be let up and Arthur had no business pinning him to the floor, even if had looked good there. Arthur leaned back down and extended his hand to help Eames up, another small act of contrition.

"真沒耐性的佛祖, Arthur, don't think I didn't see that. You will drive me to distraction if you plan to keep this up." Eames took the offered hand but pulled down and made no move to get up himself. And Arthur went down, catching himself with his arms braced on either side of Eames to avoid crashing on top of him completely. He cycled through his options, flat out denial which would just be an insult to Eames' intelligence and his own for believing that would work. He could tell Eames to fuck off, that he wasn't going to do this, but... it had almost been a year, and Eames probably knew what he was doing in the bedroom.

"You really want to do this with me?" Arthur asked, still hovering over him, because if Eames kept going, Arthur wasn't sure he could stop himself. Maybe this wasn't a bad idea, but it wasn't a good one either. There wasn't a law against it though, and Arthur had already made it clear he would arrest Eames at the first chance, and fuck Eames looked good and Arthur felt too warm beneath his own skin. And nothing had happened, fuck.

"Fuck, Arthur, you can't be serious. I've been risking your ire each time I so much as flirt with you and you're asking me if I'm sure? Just cause we're more friendly now doesn't mean I suddenly don't want to fuck your brains out, come here-" He pulled at the collar of Arthur's ridiculous oversized shirt, sitting farther up as he crashed their lips together, balancing on his other elbow.

Arthur froze, trying to process what Eames had said and the sensation of their mouths meeting, and then he fell forward a bit, guiding Eames back down. Eames wanted him and not just because he was convenient, because Arthur was anything but convenient, but that stoked at something. Arthur shivered as he started to catch up and kiss back, matching Eames' intensity. He pushed himself up again, licking at his lips to chase the taste of Eames. "You told me," he inhaled deeply, catching his breath, "that my head was up my ass for assuming that. I try not to make the same mistake twice." Not the most romantic conversation, but Arthur couldn't say he was put off. He wasn't sure he could be put off, not with Eames looking up at him like this. He lowered himself back down, his attention on Eames' neck so he could respond, and because Arthur enjoyed mouthing where Eames' neck met his shoulders.

"For assuming I was being nice because I just wanted your ass when those are two - aah - utterly unrelated things." Eames' arms were around him now, searching and stroking along his back.

Arthur moaned into Eames' neck, pressing his body closer as Eames pushed down on the small of his back. God, Eames' hands were tracing along his spine and Arthur couldn't help but arch into the warm touch. He shifted, bringing his arms to either side of Eames' head and resting on his forearms before leaning in to lick at Eames' lips. He let out another little pleased noise and slowly rolled his hips against Eames', prolonging the movement because there was no hurry, the rest of the ‘Verse could wait.

Except that it couldn't.

The ship pitched hard to the right, sending both of them with it and the sound of crates sliding and everything being thrown out of place while the klaxon blared was deafening. But Arthur scrambled to his feet, immediately seeking out Eames to get him into the cockpit - fuck. "You didn't get the damn defragmentor, 屎蛋!" he shouted.

Eames was up on his feet immediately, dashing up the stairs. "You have to take a seat and buckle up!" That was a stupid order, Arthur elected to ignore it and follow Eames into the cockpit. He fell behind when the grav-generator failed a second time and sent various debris and random objects that Eames had amassed hurtling in Arthur's path, then kicked back on and he hurried to cover the distance, picking his way carefully and slipping into the room just as the ship lurched to the left. He gripped the frame tightly and ducked his head down while throwing up an arm to shield himself.

"Eames?" he shouted, once Rook steadied, but the alarm still rang out impossibly loud. Arthur ignored a wave of dizziness and nausea as he pushed off from the door frame and made for the console where Eames sat furiously flicking switches and turning dials. Arthur glanced out the window and noticed the unusual vertical stripes of stars blurring past the windshield before they just became blackness. "We're falling," he observed as the intercom went silent, "how the hell are we falling?"

"Good question, darling, considering there's nothing around us but an empty, black..." Eames cut himself off, eyes focusing on something outside. "Is that a planet? Why is there a planet here? There are no planets out here!" But apparently there was, even if Arthur couldn't see it, and they were hurtling at a steady several hundred miles per second straight toward it. "Arthur," Eames started, without looking up from the controls. "Are you allergic to seat belts? We're about to suffer a bit of a crash landing which you shouldn't be standing for, if you want to actually survive."

"Right," Arthur agreed and began searching for emergency seating. If he remembered the layout of the ship correctly, he slid his palm along the paneling, there. He tugged on the handle and the seat came tumbling down, flinging a tangle of belts as it did. Arthur settled and strapped himself in, his eyes back on Eames and the window as he clicked the last around his midsection. "What do we have on it?" he asked, Eames' scanners should be picking up something by now.

"Barely anything, and the whole thing is too warm for me to accurately pick up signs of life..." Eames scrambled for his own belt, pulling both down and across with one hand. "The hell is it made of, coal? Carbon nanos? There's no way there's a whole lost planet made of nanos, it's too valuable but fuck if that surface reflects almost nothing" he talked as he worked. "Well, there was life at some point," he corrected. "I can see a town, though we're landing no where near it."

Eames was right, no one lost a planet made of nanos. Arthur didn't waste time trying to guess what the surface actually was made of, they would have time enough for that once they landed. The mention of a town was worth some concern though. "Did the terraforming fail?" If that was the case, and the planet was toxic, even if they did manage to land any structural damage would ruin the life support. Arthur tried to catch a better look at the town, but it was out of sight. Rook was losing altitude fast and Arthur braced himself, straightening his back and tucking his chin while planting his feet firmly on the ground and using his forearms to cover his head.

"I would hope not!" he heard Eames answer over the noise. "Aaand..." The ship jolted, hitting the ground, flipping and bouncing again immediately. The sound was the worst, the screech and crunch of metal overriding all other senses while they were whipped around. Arthur crouched further at the sharp crackle of shattered glass, his arms taking the worst of the spray and stinging with it. With a last lurch, they stopped and Arthur lowered his arms to survey the damage. His heart leapt into his throat.

The ship was eerily still and so was Eames, pinned against the pilot's seat by a black branch that had crashed through the windshield. "Eames!" Arthur shouted, even as he fumbled with the buckles, nimble fingers reduced to blundering ones, but he managed them at last, and sprang to his feet. Arthur was at Eames' side in the span of seconds and examining the wounds. Shit, shit, the branch had gone straight through his shoulder, and shit, Eames was so still, when was Eames ever still? Arthur swallowed his heart and his panic, summoning his training and inhaling deeply. He ignored the sharp tang of blood and the dull earthy smell, focused on exhaling and excising any regard he had for Eames. He couldn't do this if he cared and he shouldn't have cared about Eames in the first place. Either way, Arthur won't bury another friend.

Arthur reached a hand to Eames' neck, two fingers at the pulse point, it was erratic, but there. Good. Eames was only unconscious. Unconscious and absolutely covered in glass, with a branch lodged in his shoulder. The black tree limb was too big to simply remove it, but it needed to come out. Arthur needed to flush out the wounds, all of them, and stop the bleeding. He left Eames to collect the med kit, there weren't enough sanitation wipes, but the wounds needed to be sutured.

Water, a bowl of water and some soft cloths, and mild soap, Arthur needed those things. He raced out of the room and into the kitchen, stepping over obstacles along the way. A lot of the cabinets and drawers had burst open, spilling their contents onto the ground, which served as a blessing in disguise because Arthur was able to find a bowl and a rag with only a quick glance. He picked his way over to the sink, testing the tap, and giving the water a taste for contaminates. Satisfied, he filled the bowl and wet the rag, scanning the floor and counter space for soap. A large serrated knife caught his eye first. It would completely ruin the knife, but Arthur could use it to help saw the branch which would go a long way in helping to eventually remove it. He scooped it up and carried it between his teeth at the hilt. He couldn't find the soap, he gave up after a few minutes and decided he could stick one of the sanitation wipes in with some of the rubbing alcohol and extend the usefulness of it.

He made his way back, a little slower than he'd come, then hastened to Eames' side before setting down the bowl and the knife down to check Eames' pulse - still there. He tried to study the puncture, but it was difficult to make anything out, and Arthur hadn't dealt with an injury like this. Bullet holes, yes, but bullets were small enough to remove if they didn't shoot cleanly through. He picked up the knife and began sawing at the branch, slow tedious work, but if he removed most of the tree, he might be able to manage a look.

It seemed like hours before he was even close to sawing the thing off but he faltered as someone called from outside the windshield.

"Is there anyone alive in there? I come in peace... Don't shoot..."

Arthur went tense and still, the room going silent as he stopped sawing. He sought out the voice - it had sounded like a young woman's. Sure enough, there she was among the tree limbs and the last jagged shards of glass from the windshield clinging to the frame. He regarded her warily, unable to make out much. Arthur decided to take her at her word, for the moment, because she had announced herself and Arthur couldn't be sure if she was alone or unarmed, so it was best to avoid launching himself at her.

"Two people," he answered, then volleyed his own question, "do you have a doctor or medical supplies?" Right now, Arthur could not have cared less who she was or where she'd come from.

There was a crackle of radio. "I've got two in the cockpit, one needs to be sawed out, if you can bring one of the small laser cutters?" Arthur watched as she holstered her gun, gingerly kicking a remaining shard of glass over so she could climb in, keeping eye contact. She was armed then - Arthur noted he'd made the right choice as he rose to a stand.

"Back at base we do," she was saying. "Both. Typically our doctor comes with us, but we hadn't thought anyone was going to survive the crash, coming in as you were. You're going to have to trade his services in for your supplies though. I'm sure you're not going anywhere real soon, so it's probably in your best interest. Also you might want to put that knife away before your pilot wakes up. Probably best to cut away whatever clothing is around it and dress that, too, make sure it doesn't move. I'm going to open the main doors for the two other people with me, is that alright?"

There were others with her as well, and Arthur had to remind himself that if the girl had intended to kill them, she could have shot him while he'd been preoccupied. Still, Arthur didn't want to be outnumbered, he gripped the knife tightly. "No one else gets on this ship, except a doctor. You grab the cutters and come back in the way you came and then we'll discuss what you can take."

He'd remove the shirt once she was gone, he wasn't going to take his eyes off her, and he wasn't about to lower his only weapon.

"You want to do this the hard way?" She frowned and crossed her arms, carefully maintaining a safe distance. Her radio paged but she ignored it, eying him. "The doctor is a drive away. Would you rather have a confrontation with me and wait an hour for us to drive back and forth while your friend here bleeds out or do you want all hands on deck, so to speak, and cut the amount of time he spends with a branch in his shoulder in half?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes, considering. Eames wasn't going to last long, and a cold part of Arthur that had already grieved him wanted to refuse the girl. Eames was a liability, there was a limited amount of food and a lot of repairs that Eames wouldn't be able to help with, but Arthur's base instinct was to protect those he worked with while he could. "Give me your gun, tell your guys to leave theirs at the entrance. No one goes where I can't see them. I won't shoot unless one of you tries something," he negotiated. Arthur could probably overpower her before she drew her gun. He could at least get in close enough to knock it out of her hand before she aimed, but he would rather avoid that because there was always the chance she'd get a shot in, or hit Eames.

"I'm not giving you my gun. I'll put it down, but you're already brandishing a knife at me, why would I want to give you a further advantage?"

 _Is everything alright?_ her radio paged again and she frowned, considering. "Leave your guns at the door," she paged back, carefully crouching to place her own on the floor, eyes snapping up as Eames stirred.

"What... 'S going on...?" Shit. Arthur's full attention was back on him, he dropped the knife and gently grabbed both sides of Eames' face, unmindful of the blood but careful not to touch any scratches and forced Eames to look at him and not the branch embedded in his shoulder. "What-? Arthur..?"

"Eames, hold still can you do that?" Arthur asked, voice low and soft, but without room for argument. He spared an over the shoulder glance for the girl. "Get them to hurry," he ordered, then his attention was back on Eames. "You're fine," he insisted.

"I can, Arthur..? Who..? You're okay..." Eames grimaced, bringing his hand up to Arthur's on his face, clutching it. "My luck. I guess I gave it you." Superstitious drivel. Eames was not lucid at all. Confused and hurt and... Arthur felt sick. He couldn't let Eames rely on him, he couldn't be Eames' rock. He needed distance, he needed to disconnect. His features went cold and blank. Eames shouldn't have been concerned about him, this was Arthur's fault, Eames should have been angry. Arthur should have been hurt. But all the should haves didn't matter, it was still Eames rooted to his chair, eyes unfocused and in great pain, seeking reassurances from him, reassurances that Arthur wouldn't give because he wouldn't let himself become invested. Couldn't let himself. He carefully pulled Eames' hand away as he drew back, severing ties ruthlessly in his mind.

"We'll need to move him a little further forward, and it's probably best for you to move away for now." It was the girl.

"They're here to help, do what they ask," Arthur said, stepping away entirely and without a shred of reluctance as two men entered the room. Arthur turned his attention to the girl's accomplices. Two men, average build and height, unarmed as ordered. He kept his eyes on them, even as he asked the girl, "Who are you, what is this place? And what do you expect in exchange for calling in your doctor?"

The men were moving in closer to Eames, cutting away at the branch, their laser far quieter than the knife.

"This is a nameless planet, most people call it Black Rock or 消失. Most of the people here suffered crashes just like you have and there's no way to get off unless you have a functioning ship. There's not much we can do but investigate crash sites within our area, collecting anything salvageable so we can at least continue to exist." A pause. "Mostly we coexist on a shared amount of resources taken from ships that crash. If the passengers survive they are welcome to join us. All do, there's not much hope here, otherwise. So mostly your supplies is what we're after and Yusuf will be happy to see both of you regardless of if you actually have much of value."

Black Rock, 消失, fitting names however lacking in creativity they were. Arthur listened intently, mind racing ahead to the implications. Other ships meant more scrap, Arthur was certain they could pull enough together to salvage Rook. Arthur hadn't noticed much structural damage but he'd have a more thorough look and check out the engines later.

"Ari-," one of the men started and Arthur stood back as the girl, Ari, he noted, rushed to Eames side.

"If you have any ice, that would probably be of use. He's had a concussion, I bet. Please stay awake," she was addressing Eames now. "You need to stay awake."

She was right, Arthur had been distracted by the impalement that he hadn't recognized the lack of focus in Eames' eyes as the clear sign it was. He faltered a moment, contemplating how much he trusted these people either alone with Eames or picking their way through the ship, but so far Ari had conceded to the majority of his requests. "I'll get it," he said, assuming he'd fetch the ice faster than if he tried to direct the men to the kitchen.

On the way he turned over Ari's words in his head. A colony of crash survivors, presumably not far, Rook must have bounced further than he'd thought. He wasn't interested in settling on this planet, but a nearby township eased their plight. Arthur could send Eames off with them, provided he could be moved, while Arthur sent a wave to the Alliance and reported the planet. The populace would be picked up and returned home, or they could at least be guaranteed a steady shipment of supplies. Arthur grabbed a rag, opened the freezer - quickly noting what food was on hand - and used it to wrap as much ice as he could.

By the time he arrived, it seemed the men had secured the branch, using up the last of Eames' bandages to do so, and had moved on to carefully picking out bits of glass. They were taking advantage of the water Arthur had brought and were carefully rinsing away bits of black bark and blood. "Here," he said and offered the ice to Ari who pressed it to Eames' forehead. "Will the doctor come here, or will you take Eames to him?" Arthur asked, carefully keeping his distance.

"Like I said, it will take more time for the doctor to come here than us bringing him to base. If he can walk-"

"I can walk," Eames volunteered slowly, clearing his throat. "If it's not too far. And I'd be remiss if I didn't offer you whatever you might need from the ship. I am indebted to you already." He sat up, replacing the girl's hand with his own over the ice pack, shrugging off the wet towels. "I have a feeling Arthur will not be much willing to leave here, as he's been dying to get me out of the way, so if you could just leave some for his continued survival I would appreciate it." He stood then, relying heavily on Ari's support at his elbow.

Arthur's face remained impassive, belying an undercurrent of warring emotions. Eames was clearly not lucid, offering up his entire vessel for scavengers to plunder and only requesting that Arthur be considered, after everything... It sat bitter on his tongue. Arthur had neither need nor want for Eames to look out for him, and Eames had no business doing so while his own life hung so fragile. "白目," he hissed under his breath.

"Get him to the doctor, if he dies don't bother coming back," Arthur said, toneless. They wouldn't be able to strip the ship and get Eames to safety, Arthur assumed they'd return to pick over what supplies and scraps they could. He'd head to the town with them on their second trip back, after he'd signaled help. He watched them assist Eames up, the man under his uninjured shoulder taking most of the weight while the other worked on keeping Eames' arm steady.

"Wishful thinking, darling," Eames breathed, unable to stop himself from staggering.

Arthur didn't walk them out and he didn't say goodbye. Ari gave him an odd look, as though she were trying to decipher him, but she left the cockpit too, after a moment. 

With the others gone, Arthur moved to pull out the sink and wash his hands as well as the few scratches on his arm and face. He kept moving, not pausing to think, and went to the console. Basic access would be enough to alert the Alliance, they'd pick them up, Arthur would pay for the repairs to Eames ship and head back to Ariel and sort out the nightmare that had happened on Persephone.

A bulletin popped up as soon as a connection to the Cortex was established - Arthur would have closed it out had the headline not been an arrest warrant reading his name. Unable to stop himself he began reading over it, skipping past personal information and onto the accusations. He told himself it was simply a misunderstanding, he'd gone missing with Alliance property, even he could admit that was suspect.

But it wasn't that alone. Arthur made a choked noise. The doomed rescue mission, the cover-up, Dom's suicide, they were accusing him of all of it now. Arthur's chest contracted, heart agonizingly clenched, for a moment unable to breath. Because if the Alliance was leveling this at him, there was no misunderstanding, there was no going home. Eames had been right, the Alliance wanted him dead. He'd be arrested and executed the moment they caught up. And then he felt nothing, truly nothing. It didn't matter. Die here on this rock, or die at the hands of the Alliance. He should have died with the Cobbs anyway. Because if he started being honest the life he wanted died with them, the one on Ariel he forced himself to want, but with all of it stripped away, with the cold, sinking resignation that he will never have a life he actually wanted...

Eames needed him because he needed to get off this planet, and these people needed supplies. He closed the bulletin and tapped at the screen for an outgoing wave. It began searching for signal and an error bar popped up. He tried again with the same results. If there was a connection to the Cortex there should have been enough for a wave. After another handful of tries Arthur considered it a lost cause. He stepped back from the console, his knee throbbed and buckled and he fell hard. He couldn't...

The knife was within reach. He picked it up. He knew what would be fastest, what would be easiest. It would just take a couple of minutes...

He dropped the knife. He couldn't do that to Eames, not after everything. Arthur could still repair this ship, he owed Eames that much. When Eames was recovered and back in the skies, then Arthur could stay behind and Eames would never have to know. Arthur forced himself to stand, favoring his good knee. He'd take stock of the situation, find out what repairs were needed and go from there. Eames could convince the people to help, he could promise them food and it would all work out. When Eames was safe and free everything would be fine. And Arthur could end it as he should have seven years ago.


	4. Chapter 4

Whatever the chemist turned doctor had given him was absolutely amazing: Eames woke up feeling like he'd had the best sleep of his entire life. And he had really only been under for two hours, if not less. When he'd said drugs didn't work on him, he was clearly missing out on this stuff. He even went to stretch his arms up and yawn, the sound erupting in a pained yelp that had Yusuf bustling back into the room.

"I told you not to move that, Eames!" And Eames would have done best to remember that, given that the small aborted movement he had managed sent pain searing both down his arm and across his back. He grinned instead of looking cowed and poked at his bandages before looking up to shake Yusuf's hand with his uninjured one. For a chemist, the man really knew his way around a scalpel, as far as Eames could tell, and he said so for Yusuf to half laugh, half shrug - it was what life had thrown at him.

The village, as far as Eames had found out from his rescuers on his short journey, was a rather small one, made up of houses assembled from black wood and metal scraps salvaged from the many, many crash landings the planet was home to. They made a point of putting reflective surfaces on the roofs, but it helped little, the tiny spots of villages here and there hardly enough to be seen from space until it was too late. The planet itself was made of a material that had almost no reflectiveness, the houses ending up looking like they were painted in, casting very little shadow no matter how strong the sun. Even everything that grew on it was black. Not only did it absorb all incoming light, nothing made it out, either, making alerting passing ships impossible. Those who lived in the villages were survivors or born of one, one or two barefooted children in ill-fitting clothes running amok among the buildings. It was unsurprising to find out that everyone came from different paths of life, be it cook, engineer, farmer, vagabond or commercial pilot.

Ariadne (a former hopeful architecture student as he found out and made the mistake of thinking of Arthur) was a responsible young thing but very curious, barely waiting until they rolled out of the clearing their landing had caused to ask after his own life, making a particular emphasis on his relationship with Arthur. Eames didn't see why he should lie and told her a good deal of the truth, skipping out on the more sensitive details. He didn't even need to fake nausea when she brought up Arthur's behavior, at one point at Eames' side, at another all but channeling cold detachment. Not that he had any answers to give her - thief and federal agent was explanation enough.

Speaking of which. Ariadne had said, as they were gingerly unloading him near the med tent, that they were going back almost immediately and that if he died it wouldn't really help anyone. He had chuckled and assured her he hadn't planned on it, but now that he could walk freely, he figured he should go find Arthur, even if it meant walking all the way back to the crash site. It was damp and warm outside the tent, which was fine, given his shirt was now in tatters and probably soaking someplace. It wasn’t on him and he hadn't even seen where it had gone.

Of course, now that he was actually on his feet and in the glaring sun, he wasn't sure that walking too far was even a plausible idea. Though dull, everything about him still hurt and he didn't have as much energy as he had first thought.

Ah, there Arthur was. Eames aborted a wave. Wrong arm, wrong arm. He grimaced, then finally lifted the other hand before swaying. Actually, didn't Yusuf say something about staying and resting? It would explain why the unloading group was looking at him, concerned. No matter, he was clearly fine. And his shoulder was more elevated if he was standing, wasn't it? Or something. Anyway, this was important. Yes. The bandage slung across his chest was a bit annoying, but that was important too. Less important than Arthur. Who came! Eames had thought he wouldn't and just stay on the ship like a recluse. It was a relief and he trudged his way between the buildings, making sure to envelop Arthur in a stumbling, one-armed hug.

"He should be resting," was how Arthur greeted him, though lacking the bite he would have typically used.

"I thought you'd be a hermit," Eames stated, letting go, before turning curiously toward the sound of giggling without taking a step back. Ah, Ariadne. "Your Yusuf has the best concoctions I have ever seen, Miss." That only served to make her cover her mouth further before paging:

"Yusuf, you seem to have a rogue patient out and about."

"'M not a rogue, I'm a thief!" He still held on to Arthur's arm with his good hand, swaying slightly. Everyone seemed to be busy doing something though, although there were some chuckles heard around. Ah, yes, unloading.

"What you should be, is in bed," Arthur responded, all dry sarcasm.

"Eames," he heard Yusuf call from behind, exasperation clear in his voice, "come back and stay put like a normal patient." Arthur nudged Eames in that direction. The bastard.

"Mm, bed, oh, yes! Whatever was in that... stuff, it was the best sleep I've had in a while! Besides, well, you know. Ah, Yusuf, hello again!" Eames turned, sliding his arm from Arthur's elbow to across his back, otherwise feeling like he might fall over. And, curiously enough, that Arthur might fall over, what with the soft tremors running under his skin. Together they were more stable.

"He could have wandered off into the woods, how far would he have gotten before you thought to check on him?" Arthur demanded, a bit of fire returning to him.

"I swear, he was in the bed just a few minutes ago!" Yusuf protested, defensive, "Ask him how he got so far!"

"I walked, actually! I couldn't help it, I was worried. I would have come back, I swear to it, I just thought maybe..." What had he been thinking? He couldn't recall anymore. "Don't be mean to Yusuf, Arthur, be mean to me if you must, but not Yusuf, he doesn't deserve it. Did you know he took a whole branch out of my shoulder? I'm sorry, we can go back to bed, I promise not to go into the forest for the trees..." That seemed like a weird thing to say but Eames carried on. "But you have to come, Arthur, because I thought you were going to just disappear forever and not come at all. Run in the other direction. I don't know." He took a step towards Yusuf, dragging his arm in hopes that Arthur would follow. Arthur did, for some reason hesitant and still trembling slightly before clearing his throat.

"Yes, he did, thank you, Yusuf."

Yusuf lead them to the tent before ushering them inside. "Eames, you have to keep still, we've gone over this. Do you remember?" he spoke loud and direct to Eames’s ear.

"Yes, yes, I'm not really deaf, I remember. I remember a lot of things, " Eames sighed, looking up, trying to navigate his way through his thoughts, turning to Arthur now. "You know, I feel really good right now, despite the fact that I know I was distinctly angry before and it feels like it doesn't matter right now but it probably will eventually and I guess I just wanted to find you and tell you I'm sorry for whatever it was I did that you didn't like?"

He was babbling, but it seemed important that he say it because he'd almost died and Arthur needed to know. "I'm sorry for bringing up stuff you don't want to talk about, too, except I probably won't actually stop. And I think you're a great friend, even when you pretend you aren't or we aren't or don't tell me anything or you don't trust me and I'm mean about it. I'm also preemptively sorry for when I wake up grumpy in the morning because there is no way that this mood is going to last that long." The way he was feeling now, it reminded him of weightlessness, but his feet were still on the ground. Or maybe it was the returning dizziness of his concussion. In any case, it was weird and he found that he didn't like it as much as he thought he did so he sat down on the bed, toeing off his boots automatically. "You will stay, right?" he felt the need to double check.

"Eames," Arthur said, "stop talking." Yusuf seemed amused at least, although it wasn’t funny, it was dead serious. Arthur understood, Eames knew, even if Arthur wouldn’t meet his eyes. "I can do that."

"If you are staying, I have instructions," Yusuf spoke to Arthur now.

Eames quietened, listening to Yusuf's instructions for a little bit before tuning them out, figuring they were for Arthur mostly and he didn't need to be paying attention. Instead he arranged himself carefully on the bed, only now realizing exactly how much the short walk back and forth had actually taken out of him. There was a thin blanket but he disregarded it. It was warm enough as it was.

He stared at the ceiling for a little before shifting his focus to the silhouettes of Arthur and Yusuf, waiting. They were directions about him after all and he imagined they were to be enacted while he was awake.

Yusuf left soon enough and Arthur looked at him again. "I don't care if you wake up grumpy," he admitted, quietly. "As long as you wake up. You didn't do anything wrong, Eames."

"I'll try," Eames said earnestly. "But... No, we'll talk about it later when I'm not," he made a vague hand gesture, indicating his state.

"Think you're ready for some memory tests?"

"I was born ready," he quipped, grinning again and perking up, shuffling until he was resting completely on his back, looking up at Arthur. "Lay it on me."

Arthur smiled tiredly back. "What was your last cargo?" he asked, shifting his weight to favor his right leg. "Do you have your comm?"

"Uh, you- no! Pigs. I compared you to them though which is why- sorry." Eames blinked sheepishly, before shaking his head in the negative. "Not on me. I don't even have a shirt, forget a comm. I don't actually know where it went, if I were honest. I think I left it in my coat which was in, er, I don't remember where I put that. Somewhere on the ship, probably. What would you even need it for, crap planet absorbs all the signals." He yawned. "Bloody inconvenient, really, couldn't call for help if we wanted to. There's a chair over in the corner over there, you know, so you don't have to stand for the whole time."

"I wanted to set the alarm, I have to wake you up every two or three hours," Arthur explained, locating the chair and taking a seat. "Is there anything you want from the ship? I can get it tomorrow, or ask Ariadne."

"A change, eventually," Eames shrugged automatically before hissing in pain. "Even my pants seem to be full of holes at the moment." He pressed his palm to the side of his neck, hesitant to even touch where the pain had shot through. He wasn't used to this sort of pain, hell, he was used to coming out without a scratch. But if it meant that Arthur was well, unlike what had happened to everyone around Eames during the war, he would gladly take it. He was more tired than giddy now, carefully fielding another yawn, trying not to move his shoulders again. "What changed your mind about coming here rather than staying on the ship?"

Arthur half-smiled. "I had a feeling you were doing something you shouldn't. I also have a sixth-sense for incompetence. You can sleep," he said, "you'll need it."

"I wasn't doing anything wrong, there's no way I would have gone far anyway. Probably sat down in some spot outside the town and just," he interrupted himself with another yawn. "Waited. Until someone helped me out. Or Yusuf found me. Because I'm pathetic, as I'm sure you are aware." Eames yawned one more time before giving up. "Damn it, the one time I can't stay awake is the one time I want to. Blood loss is idiotic and should be outlawed. Not that it would apparently stop me. Well, I'm nodding off, sorry." A final yawn and he closed his eyes, dropping his good hand to the bed. "Wake me... whenever..."

It was black for only a moment before he heard sound again. "Mmm?" Eames was vaguely aware that must have been his name. Arthur. Right, he needed to wake up. It was harder than he'd ever experienced to open his eyes, but he managed to peel them open even if it felt like he had just closed them a minute ago. But Arthur had said it would be every two or three hours. Whatever painkillers he must have been given had worn off and oh god, everything hurt. "Shite...." He rolled over onto his good shoulder, groaning, muscles sore in places he didn't imagine they could be. "Ugh, I don't want to wake up..."

"You'll change your mind after you take this," Arthur said somewhere above him and Eames had no choice but to prop himself up, getting a bowl of soup handed to him for his efforts. This wasn’t painkillers...

"What bloody hell is this? Soup? Is that what it's supposed to be?"

"Lift your head and open your mouth," Arthur instructed. "Do you really feel up for something more substantial?"

Eames had been right about being grumpy when he woke but he hadn't expected to also be in terrible pain. Breathing hurt and every twitch of a muscle set off alarm bells someplace else, pulling at the lacerations. He obeyed Arthur's command instead, deciding that his pride really wasn't worth it. The liquid that poured into his mouth was disgusting but he swallowed it anyway, following it immediately with the soup.

"Finish that, and then tell me if you're still hungry." Arthur instructed and moved away from the bed, back to his corner. It wasn't much. More broth than actual food, but there were a few bites of chicken and a few wide noodles. "Can you tell me your name, my name, and where we are?"

Eames sipped from the bowl carefully, the warm liquid already making him feel better. He didn't feel sorry for complaining about it, however. It didn't take long to finish and he sighed slightly when he was done, the concoction Arthur had given him was already starting its work.

"Eames, Arthur Hale, some invisible crap hole on the very outskirts of the White Sun system. I believe, anyway, if it isn't on the very outskirts of Kalidasa. Or Georgia. Or some sort of funky orbit in between. There's a fine line." He placed the bowl onto the floor, collapsing onto his shoulder again. Sleep was a bit far now, even as the aches and pains receded, taking their time at a snail's pace.

"It's called Black Rock, or 消失." Arthur informed him then crossed the short distance between them to hand Eames his bowl. "I ate earlier. Where were you born?"

"I don't..." Eames sighed, looking at the bowl. That he wasn't hungry would be a lie. He decided not to force the issue, drinking slowly instead, closing his eyes. The food was making him feel well enough to sit up slightly. "On AS _Voyager IX_. Shipside." He guessed it didn't really matter if Arthur knew anymore, not in this environment, where it was moot point who had authority over who. Eames focused morosely on his bowl instead. His memory was working well enough to remember Arthur's cold shoulder and his rather regrettable behavior just several hours ago. Not that he hadn't meant what he'd said, but it was hard to know where Arthur even was on the subject. Why they'd snapped back to tension after happily messing around in the cargo bay was a mystery to him. And here he'd thought he had Arthur all figured out.

For instance, the way he was clearly favoring one leg over the other. His first instinct was to worry, which was pitiful, and he focused instead, thinking until he dragged up the story of Arthur's discharge from the army. Ah. "You can bring the chair over here rather than walking across the whole room, you know."

Arthur did so, but remained impassive. "What is the name of this place?"

"他媽的消失。"

"The damage to Rook is reparable," Arthur said quickly, then, "if you can convince the people here to lend supplies. You have most of the materials necessary already. I printed a schematic and I can handle the manual labor involved. It will take time, but it's possible. You landed her well."

"I can convince many people of many things, Arthur," Eames answered and found he wouldn't have much cared if the ship had burned to a crisp. Sure, he loved it and it had been his home for a long time, but these things happened. Ships died. It was inevitable. That it was reparable was good, given he didn't exactly plan on settling on this stupid rock, but... "That's really not important right now. The damage can wait. I want to know what's going on with you. Why are you so..." he struggled to come up with the word he was thinking of, looking up and waving his free hand around to indicate the current situation.

"Dull? Distant?" Eames asked. "Trying to hide things for one. No one was forcing you to sit in that corner if your knee hurts. Takes one to know one." He grimaced at the twinge of pain from his shoulder as he referred to it. It was like there was a spark missing in Arthur, some lack of pigheadedness that Eames missed now. If everything was really fine, he would probably never hear the end of _why didn't you buy that defragmentor first thing, we wouldn’t be here had you just done that simple thing, how irresponsible, Eames_. It belatedly occurred to him that pushing Arthur hardly got them anywhere, but the annoyed buzz that he woke up with was not going anywhere until the painkillers kicked in in full. "Not looking me in the eye yet taking over mothering duties? I don't understand."

Arthur raised his head and looked Eames dead on. "I'm tired Eames, and yes, my knee hurts, but you had a fucking tree go through your shoulder so it didn't seem worth mentioning. I'm taking care of you because I owe you, because you're the only reason I'm alive, but we aren't friends Eames. What I don't understand is why you have trouble with that concept."

"I think you need both parties to agree on the friends part of the arrangement," Eames commented archly. Arthur was lying through his teeth, lying because no one ever looked you straight in the eye for that long unless they wanted you to believe everything they were saying was true. It still made no sense - everything he said could be true, potentially. Yet there was a dullness to the words as Arthur said them, one Eames couldn't put his finger on. Not to mention the many loose ends... It was pointless to go further. Arthur would insist that what he said was true, now that he had, and he doubted he'd come down from his position if Eames surrendered his birth certificate and medical records and right arm. The whole thing was frustrating.

"I don't know why you're lying, or what you're lying about, but so help me I _will_ find out, Arthur. I've only known you for three days but I know enough. You won’t be rid of me until I find out what happened that's making you act this way." He put Arthur's bowl down on top of the other, reclining again with a huff. It was also pathetic how easy it was for him to run out of energy and both times on Arthur's account.

"Why do you care so goddamn much?" Arthur asked, a fire starting to build again in his voice, "What makes my life any of your concern? Is my life a fucking game to you? What is it? Peel away the layers until there's nothing left of me? Prod at Arthur until he fucking breaks, because congratulations you're almost fucking there, Eames! What do you fucking want? Do you want me to say it? That I'm a fucking coward too? Because fine, Eames, fine. I thought you were _dead_ and I ran the only way I could." His voice went soft and he was trembling. "I ran and I'm not ready to come back, because you could still die."

"I'm not going to-ah, fuck-!" Eames tried to sit up again, too quickly and using both elbows, flopping back down with a howl of pain. He had no choice but to stay rigid and straight on the mattress, turning his head. Arthur was there, hovering over him and he didn’t blame him. Fuck that had hurt. "I'm not going to _die_ , Arthur, worst case scenario I'm less an arm at the end of the day because I tried to shake sense into you and it got infected and needed to go. But, shit, I care because the planets go 'round the stars and my blood is the same color as yours - because I just do, and you keep on questioning it. And I'm..." He ran a hand across his face, closing his eyes for a split second. "I just want you to like me, god help me, because I like you and you're not a coward and there's no reason for the time being for us to have awfully stilted conversations or-" not to laugh and spar and make out behind the shed like teenagers. He swallowed. That was not right. Fuck. "Fuck, just... never mind." He draped his hand over his eyes. "Tell me when you're ready to come back, then. I'll just be over here."

"Don't wait for me," Arthur said, detached, but he hadn’t sat back down. "I'm not worth the effort, and I don't want friends."

"Tough," Eames sighed, feeling himself starting to drift off again. He never hated sleep more than now. As soon as the pain faded he couldn't stop himself from falling asleep. Next time he would refuse the pain killers, except it was too painful to be awake without them and it was a horrible dilemma. Soon it was hard to think coherently at all.

\---

It was dark, a suffocating thing, and he stood frozen in the middle of it, calling out what no echo carried. It was a familiar place. Painfully familiar. He had this nightmare dozens of times before but it didn't change the way his heart was hammering in his chest. The smell of blood was as persistent as ever, rotting everywhere around him. A brilliant flash of red light illuminated everything for several seconds, hissing like a flare, enough for him to risk looking. The ground was littered with familiar faces, and just those, shapeless masks floating in knee deep red. But now there were trees growing out of the water, black and jagged, unreal enough to be terrifying, accompanied with smoking wrecks of spacecraft familiar and not. The explosion was coming soon, he knew, several heartbeats after the second flare, but it didn't stop him from being scared. Another flare and Arthur was wading across the pool, pad in hand, counting and cataloguing and Eames would have turned away if he could. "Get out of here," he warned, flinching as a new flare went off, this time they were face to face, a horrible permutation of the dream.

"If you're trying to make up for this you have another thing coming," dream Arthur told him and Eames tried to say the yes, he knew, there was little excuse for any of this but it was too late and they were engulfed by flames, a roaring white explosion that took up every sense he had with pain, each pulse more real than the last and mostly on his right, and he need to wake up-

Eames woke with a jolt, gasping.

The feeling that his skin was burning didn't cease, concentrated mostly around his shoulder. It was a good thing that Arthur was sitting on him, pinning him down while calling his name or they would have knocked heads, as Eames' first impulse was to sit up, eyes dodging around the room as far as he could see. It was the middle of the night, maybe, but fuck did everything hurt. Arthur was pressing down on his shoulder. Oh gods, he probably messed up the stitches something terrible. Now he remembered how he actually preferred not to fall asleep some nights. Still, his heart was hammering against his ribs and he tried to calm his breathing, good hand automatically going to Arthur's knee. "It was just a dream," he sighed, closing his eyes, concentrating on matching his pulse to Arthur's. It was easy. His breathing, not so much, his lungs trying to compensate for his pain. Arthur recoiled and carefully climbed off, still hovering as if trying to make sure Eames was going to stay awake.

"Just a dream... It's alright, Arthur..." His hands were trembling, he knew, nervous system completely out of whack. "I'm sorry, I ruined all your good work, Yusuf," he smiled apologetically at the tutting doctor who appeared in his field of vision. "I guess I should stay awake for now, wouldn't want to use up your whole supply of paralytics." And he finally noticed his face was wet with water. As was the pillow. He must have been under real deep if that didn’t work immediately.

Yusuf to peeled back the bandages. "You need rest, but if this is your response -" he started.

"What did you give him?" Arthur demanded.

Yusuf made a placating gesture, "I added a mild sleep aid, he needs rest, how was I to know he would react like this?" Arthur's jaw tightened but he refrained from saying anything more since Yusuf had already started to clean the blood so he could repair the stitching on Eames’ shoulder.

"Do you have more bandages?" Arthur asked, and when Yusuf informed him that he had some not far Arthur left to fetch them.

"You're a braver man than I, Eames. I wouldn't want to share a small craft with that," Yusuf said conversationally.

"At least he doesn't throw things. Or break things. And if you know what buttons to push he can be a right nice guy. Human and everything." Eames grimaced, sitting up farther to let Yusuf do his work. He had no doubt that both the back and the front of his wound were ripped open, if only by the burning pain. "It's normal, by the way, the nightmares. It's not the drugs. Unless you knock out REM sleep, or use some sort of full paralytic, it'll be bad dreams and torn stitches for all. Guess I was too tired the first time around." He groaned slightly, breathing in to mask the pain.

He'd tried everything, when he first started on the insomnia track. Most of it ended with him waking up sweating, trembling and sometimes aiming a gun into the opposite wall. His last long term boyfriend hadn’t been particularly enthused about that last bit. "It's going to leave a nasty scar, isn't it? Argh, I am such a bother, my apologies." He carefully used his good hand to place his left palm face up on his knee. "I knew getting hurt was miserable, but not this much."

"Well, if you continue tearing your stitches like this, you certainly will have a scar," Yusuf said lightly, just as Arthur returned with the dressings. He sewed in quick, precise movements, pulling Eames into near hunch to get at the other side and doing that up within a few moments as well. Arthur handed him the gauze and watched Yusuf wrap the injury. "How much sleep do you usually get a night?" Yusuf asked, "Is there anything that helps? It could slow your healing considerably if you don't get at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep each day."

"Two sets of three hours on a good day? And out of the non chemical means... Only," Eames paused, biting at the inside of his cheek. It felt embarrassing to admit it now, of all times, but he soldiered on. "If someone shares a bed with me? Their pulse usually calms my own down, I gather, it's probably a post traumatic thing." There should be something he could say to distract from the topic. Nothing came up. "I can set an alarm though, and it should be fine, I'm sure. I'm usually rested enough when I do that and without drugs I can wake myself up, there shouldn't really be any problem? I've survived this far." The last thing he needed was Arthur to jump on the chance to help him. He didn't need a pity party to cater to all his whims and needs. The current care had been going on long enough that he could handle something on his own.

"I could," Arthur said after a brief, pregnant pause. Eames flinched then cursed himself for it.

Yusuf looked between them, then addressed Eames, "Shall I let you sort this out privately?"

"I don't - _yes_ , please." Eames waited until Yusuf made his hasty retreat, feeling oddly thankful, before starting again. "Why? I'm perfectly capable to do this on my own, Arthur. Didn't you say something about running away?" The dream was still clear in his mind even as he tried to disregard it. It was the worst dichotomy of feelings he had felt in a long time - on one side wanting to at least draw Arthur physically near, on the other imagining Arthur's sharp judgement descending on whatever Eames foolishly thought to tell him. Because while Arthur proved to be capable of easily severing any ties of even mild friendship, Eames could hardly count on himself to do the same. "I don't need your pity. I've survived long enough without it and would like to continue to do so."

"So do it." Arthur said in a mild challenge. "I don't care, Eames. I just offered. You aren't weak because you have nightmares, I don't pity you. I saw you had a problem and I offered a solution."

There was something so very wrong about this picture and Eames couldn't say what. But whatever it was, it made him want to check Arthur for warmth, to make sure his skin was not cold and smooth plastic, under which there was just the sharpest Occam’s razor and nothing more. A part of him wondered if it was best to get better as slowly as possible; if this continued, Arthur seemed keen on walking away as soon as Eames wasn't in pain.

"I can't," he said instead. "You heard what the good doctor said. I'll concede my pride to the greater good of getting both of us out of here sooner rather than later. This bed can clearly hold two’s weight as we have found. Is there any not awkward way you would like to go about this?" Keeping in mind that I still would be only too happy to jump your bones, he almost added. He couldn't be sure that anything even approximating affection was left in Arthur after he'd seen Eames both near death and the unfortunate condition he was in now. It would figure, really. God, he hated being weak.

Arthur inclined his head, face impassive. "Whatever doesn't hurt your shoulder," he said and neatly climbed in the bed, careful not to touch Eames in the slightest.

"It's not exactly wide enough to be side by side," Eames mentioned carefully. He hadn't expected Arthur to just jump in, as heartening as the fact was on its own. He scooted himself towards the wall, trying not to disturb his shoulder, balancing on his good side. For the sake of science and nothing more he bent his left elbow, the tips of his fingers resting on Arthur's side. It was warm and soft, even with the dulled sensation in his skin. "We'll have more room on our sides," he said quietly, letting his good elbow slide down along the mattress, bringing his head to the pillow. If anything, Yusuf was a brilliant chemist - the sleeping aid had yet to wash out of his system and was attempting to take effect again, no matter how nervous a rhythm his heart was currently beating out.

"Would it be better if I faced you, or if I face the other wall?" Arthur asked placidly, without making a mention of the touch but not brushing it off either.

"Depends on how much room you feel you have. And whatever makes you more comfortable." Eames had been hoping Arthur would come to a conclusion himself so he would have something to go on about his state of mind. But it was only logical that he would ask. "I would imagine you facing the other wall would offer more room for contact but if you don't like it..." he drifted off. Two days ago, he knew what he was doing. Poking fun, trying to charm an agent into sleeping with him and almost succeeding. Now he wasn't so sure. He just wanted to get into shape so he could find out what the hell was wrong. Logically, Arthur just volunteered to be his stuffed animal so he didn't tear his stitches again. Not so logically, his own thoughts were a mess and he couldn't be sure if it was some drug influence or if it was Arthur. Probably a mixture of both. "So whatever makes you feel comfortable, really," he said again.

Arthur carefully rolled over, doing his level best not jostle Eames so he could offer him his back. There were a few inches of space between them and, hesitantly, Arthur shifted closer. "You startled me, back in the hotel, but if you wanted to... whatever you need is fine." Arthur said over his shoulder.

"I seem to startle you a lot," Eames murmured, settling in closer. If it wasn't for his damn arm... Caving, he slid a knee between Arthur's, scooting close enough for his chest to press fully against Arthur's back, hand draped over the bottom of his ribs. The only response he got was a slight hiss as he jostled Arthur’s bad knee. He brushed his nose against Arthur's neck, breathing in. It was peaceful like this, warm, a fragile something that could shatter as soon as Arthur decided he'd crossed some line or another, but for now... "Why is it that I have to leave you no other choice to end up here?" he sighed, mostly rhetorical and already starting to fall asleep again.

"I have a choice," Arthur said, somewhere in the distance. "I want you to know: what I do is my choice and mine alone."

Eames smiled, content to press against the little bit of Arthur's skin available to him. The effect this was having on him... He decided to blame drugs. Arthur was a vibrating string under his fingers and he curled his good shoulder, sliding his arm under Arthur's middle, hooking their feet. That was one way to make sure Arthur wasn't going anywhere. Arthur was talking about something far out of his range at the moment and he couldn't even summon worry or try to think farther than their bed, too warm and content. "I hope you like whatever you choose, then. Seems mine are... more trouble than they're worth sometimes." The last couple of words came out more of a mumble than anything. It was pointless to try to make sense of anything he was thinking so he didn't, drifting off almost instantly.

It was blissful, quiet sleep, even if now his good arm lost a bit of feeling in it. Eames woke on command, as soon as his name was said, drowsy, easily ignoring the dull pain in his shoulder. The pain killers must have worn off a while ago, but he hadn't moved so it was all well. "Mrr?" was his eloquent response, tightening his hold and kissing lightly along the nape of Arthur's neck. Right, Arthur, he should probably stop. He ducked his head, withdrawing slightly. "Sorry," he breathed before blinking his eyes open completely. "More memory tests?"

"Name, ship, location," Arthur asked shortly but didn’t move. He was still taught as a string. There was no way he’d slept at all while Eames had been out.

"Eames, Rook, heaa-ll. Hell. Black Rock. If I stay awake, will you sleep at least a bit?" Eames quickly changed the topic and flexed the fingers on his right hand. A little asleep but he could live with it. He couldn't resist pressing his nose against Arthur's neck this time, given no negative reaction. As long as Arthur wasn't launching out of bed, he would risk doing what he pleased. Arthur made a small noise in the back of throat and tilted his head forward, eyelids fluttering shut. "Since I'm up already. Promise there won't be any wandering, er, hand." His hands were content to stay where they were, one Arthur's ribs and another tucked underneath Arthur's middle, seeing as his shoulder wouldn't allow him to wrap his arms around completely. "You need sleep, too. Go on. I'll be right here."

"What if-- 'nother nightmare?"

"I'll be fine, go on. As long as you're here, I won't have any nightmares." It wasn't necessarily true, but Eames wouldn’t struggle and wasn't planning on falling asleep anyway. This was enough sleep for now and he had a feeling he wasn't leaving the recovery bed any time in the next couple of days, if Arthur had any say in it. He slid his arm out, carefully propping himself on his elbow again, kissing the back of Arthur's earlobe and smiling. He didn't care if this was a terrible habit to pick up. It was pleasant and he liked it and a half-asleep Arthur seemed to relish in it so forget all the consequences. "You've done a lot already."

"Mmm," Arthur hummed and sank back down onto the bed, falling promptly asleep.

Ariadne let herself in sometime later with two plates of warm bao in hand and cocked her head at the sight of Eames curled around and tangled in a sleeping Arthur. Eames had stilled at her approach, stopping what he had told himself was absolutely, without a doubt, recuperative exercise, smoothing the shirt creases along Arthur's arm, moving his arm a fraction of an inch from the shoulder. It hurt, but he could stop whenever he wanted to. Of course.

"Complicated, right. Glad you two made up," she said quietly and since she apparently planned on staying, took a seat in the chair left by the bed. "I hope that was enough last night, a bowl of soup each was all I could grab, it's been a while since we've had real chicken."

Arthur roused slightly before Eames could answer but only spared Eames a glance before immediately falling back asleep again. He kept his voice low anyway. "Make up is a bit of a stretch, really. More like he's too tired to be really angry with anything. I'm not looking forward to when he wakes up and some other bee gets up his bonnet. Also, this is a little bit not what you're thinking. That is to say Arthur volunteered to be my teddy bear for the night so I didn't rip my stitches again with a nightmare and got some actual sleep. It's the only thing besides horse tranqs that helps." It was odd that he was fine to admitting it now, although there was no one to jump on the chance just because he happened to mention it.

He sat up gingerly, swinging his legs off the bed and letting Arthur's drape over his lap, keeping his hand on Arthur's shoulder as he rolled back so not all the warmth would be gone at once. There was no way the two of three hours that had passed was enough for him. "The food was fine," he answered neutrally. "Could have used some more painkillers but otherwise fine. That isn't to say I won't be wanting those," he gestured to the bao.

"I take it you have nightmares a lot then? And really, what's between you two? You told me he was a fed, how long ago was that, exactly, and what happened? Was he fired or did he quit?"

Eames had set the plate of bao on Arthur's shins, biting into one almost immediately and regretting it as soon as Ariadne got to her stream of questions. He chewed stoically, eyebrows furrowed, slowing himself down so he didn't choke in a hurry. "Wait, wait, hold on. How long ago was what?" he hissed as soon as he had swallowed, glancing at Arthur then back. The other questions seemed irrelevant. "Just yesterday he was threatening to handcuff me and send me off to a penal colony. There's no way he would say ex-fed if he was trying to hide the fact-" he stopped himself short, gesturing with his half eaten bun, trying to think and put the pieces together.

Something must have happened back on the ship, while he was out, Arthur's people must have made it clear they didn't want him and in a way that Arthur realized they meant business. The access codes were down after the crash and Arthur had had a free pass to the Cortex. A one way connection but...

"If he actually got it through his head that he had been set up, something really drastic must have happened..." he said after a long pause. Not to mention that he lost his status and was still backing off like Eames was made of spun sugar, ready to break of melt at any given second. What in the world..? "Do you have Cortex access in the town?"

"Uh, yeah," Ariadne said, slowly catching up. "There are some pads, I mean, it's not a two way connection but yeah, usually. Do you want me to find one? What's going on? Shouldn't we wake him up and ask him?" She frowned. "Forget I said that."

"Yeah, that's not a good idea unless you want to get nowhere fast. I would come with you but last time that happened I believe I almost passed out? There's no need for panic: it's not good but there's no immediate danger. Just, you know, he might be wanted by the Alliance now. I severely doubt this planet made the one exception for a wave that could cost him his head." Eames shook his head, trying to rifle through everything he knew to try and put this together. He didn't know much. It was no use. "But if you could grab one? I'll take full responsibility of going behind his back." He distracted himself with finishing the one bao still in his hand. "天翻地覆..."

Ariadne frowned, clearly unhappy about him waving away any concern but left anyway, leaving Arthur’s plate on the chair. Eames made himself finish his portion, stifling the only growing curiosity. To say that he wasn't excited would be a lie. Maybe there was something on the Cortex that would give him a different perspective on Arthur for once, something that he wouldn't have to canoodle out of the man. But he wasn't expecting Ariadne come in and raise her voice, much less shove the pad in his face. "He's psychotic! Eames, look," she half shouted, waving it in front of his face so he couldn’t read a thing.

Arthur? Psychotic? He blinked rapidly, trying to focus his eyes on the bulletin in front of him. "Shh! There's no need to wake him if that's the case, now is there? Let's just take this one step at a time, shall we? Without the panicking?" He took the pad from her hands and scrolled through what was apparently a bulletin, taking it from the top. His expression darkened as he read farther.

According to this and complete with photo evidence, Arthur was responsible not only for various fraudulent activity on Persephone but for the gruesome murder of an entire rescue team during the last days of the war, mutilating their bodies and suspending them from the ceiling, leaving only two alive after being shot in the knee. Dominic Cobb and Matthew Dysart were the names of the survivors, and Cobb's subsequent suicide was now being treated as suspicious. Dysart was offering new testimony, claiming the guilt was too much and his safety no longer mattered, that along with a re-examination of the evidence suggested it wasn't the work of an Independent infiltrator as previously reported, but _Arthur_.

A headline of the month for sure. But Arthur? This was berserker or Reaver behavior. He rubbed his forehead, dutifully ignoring the pictures. Bodies strung up from the ceiling... There was no doubt that those were real but given it was a seven year cold case, adding them on was just trying too hard. It didn't add up. It was a _cold_ case. Now suddenly new testimony. Add that onto Arthur’s demotion and more or less abandonment on Persephone. It all smelled fishy, not to mention, _Arthur_??

"This isn't right," he tapped the screen, scrolling through it one more time, concentrating on keeping his voice soft. "I could maybe believe accessory but killer? This is up close and personal, see-the-light-go-out-in-their-eyes sort of murder. He shot a guy from twenty feet away during a messy getaway and was upset about it. Not to mention his allegiance to the Alliance is pure lonsdaleite, he had a fucking panic attack when I insisted otherwise, gods, no wonder he's been acting off, he must have seen this, shit. This is worse than I imagined." He could scarcely picture what sort of reaction Arthur had been harboring inside his thick skull. Was he pulling away because he was delusional enough to believe this about himself, or think that Eames would? Because he thought the Alliance would track them this far? Hardly, hardly and hardly!

But Arthur stirred then and opened his eyes and Eames hid the pad reflexively. It was too late. Arthur’d seen it and now he saw Eames hide it. Immediately Arthur scooted back, away, as far as he could on the bed, inhaling too quick, his chest rising and making a shaky decline. His hands clenched the sheets, eyes shifting between Eames and Ariadne, who still looked aghast. His breathing grew more shallow, and he tried to slow it down but succeeded only in adding a hitch. "I-I-I..."

"Oh, here we go. Arthur. Arthur," Eames left the pad be, scooting himself in the same direction. The man was going to have a coronary at this point and they really didn't need anyone else getting incapacitated. This was the worst time to be down a well functioning arm: Arthur was millimeters away from rabbiting. And there was little hope Eames could follow him and not fall over from overexertion. Eames could talk all he wanted, but it was up to Arthur to put himself together. "Arthur, it's alright, there is no need to panic. We are going to talk about this like civilized human beings, Arthur, but only after you're fit for it, shhhh. You're perfectly safe, Arthur. No one's going to hurt you, alright? Safe as houses, you are." He scrambled for a completely unrelated topic. There was none. He'd have to improvise. "Hey, come on, Ariadne was nice enough to bring us breakfast, Arthur. And we had been talking about pink elephants and their effect on the environment and how breathing is really important for general health. But for that you need to take long slow breaths, shhh, in. And out." What was he even thinking, elephants? "No one's here to judge you, come on." He made sure to block Ariadne from Arthur's direct line of sight. "Just relax and it will all be alright. There are no pink elephants on this planet, but there should be because everything else is dull and black and boring. What do you think?"

"That's stupid, Eames," Arthur said after a moment, shaky and breathless but coming back down. That was more like it. He breathed deeply, each intake and exhale smoother and he lost his vice grip on the mattress, his entire body sagging. "Eames," he said quietly, still focused on him until Ariadne moved and Arthur went tense and silent.

"I know it is, darling, you can have a laugh at my expense." Eames tentatively brought his hand up to Arthur's shoulder, putting it down lightly. Alright, they were through this, at least for the time being. Hopefully Arthur could talk without losing all his marbles because otherwise they were stuck on this planet without any assistance or hope of fixing Rook. He looked back at Ariadne now, keeping his hand in place. "You can say whatever piece you feel necessary. Arthur will attempt to answer your questions to the best of his ability, I am sure." What had happened wasn't as important as the fact that it wasn't Arthur.

Arthur shoved the hand aside then and Eames couldn’t blame him. But they needed to get through this. Did the truth hurt that much that it couldn't be summarized in a few words? Apparently so.

"What happened, if it wasn't you?" Ariadne asked, trying to be gentle.

"You read it, there was an Independent," Arthur said tightly.

"And Dominic Cobb?"

Arthur seized. "Mal..." he choked, and struggled to compose himself, "his wife, was killed." He tried to say something else but couldn’t just hung his head and breathed. Eames didn’t dare touch him again. Ariadne’s reaction had shifted more to pity now so this was far enough.

"Alright, I think we're good for the time being, if we could just let it be for now?" Eames interrupted. "My apologies about imposing on you with such trouble, had I known I would have been more frank before you had taken us in. We have a fair chance of repairing our ship, or so I hear, so I would imagine we would be more use to you alive and helping than kicked out on our own. I'm sure most people would like to get out of here at some point or another? And if there is any water to drink, I would be very much obliged." The water was for Arthur and so they could talk alone, but while he was putting himself bodily in front of Arthur, he might as well call all the attention to himself as well. He turned back to Arthur as soon as Ariadne stopped hesitating and left. She was a smart girl, she knew it was half pretense so she would be back shortly and the tent wasn’t soundproof. But they had a little time.

"Arthur, this isn't exactly the best place to be keeping secrets. I know they hurt, I do, but if you had told me even in the vaguest terms, we wouldn't have had to go through this. Keeping it bottled up inside helps no one, especially not you." He kept his expression solemn, keeping a tight leash on his frustration and his voice as soft as possible. "It doesn't matter what exactly happened and I believe it wasn't you. But this isn't good, Arthur. There are plenty of people who might call your distress an act and hang you from the rafters on a word. Not now, but if you need to talk about it, please do." It needed to be said, no matter how angry it might make Arthur. "Even if it's to an inanimate object."

"Why don't you tell me all about the worst moment in your entire fucking life, a moment where you lost _everything,_ and let me know if it makes you feel better," Arthur challenged, glaring. "Why don't we talk about all the people _you've_ lost, and you let me know if it helps to remember them and all the shit they'll never get to see and do!

"I said enough, if these people don't believe me I don't care. Eames, I'm done, I've got nothing left. I'll do what I can to get Rook back in the air, but after that," he just shook his head.

"It does and I can," Eames said. "It doesn't make me less mournful but it helps. Rook knows everything I've ever done wrong, all my regrets and secrets and she still flies, doesn't she? Well, did, I guess, but that was my fault really. And I can tell you if you want but I can't promise no moaning or pity partying or shrinking away from the subject. I doubt it will make you feel better, in any case."

It was ridiculous how willing he was to give Arthur the key to all his secrets, he just wanted Arthur's in return. He couldn't stand seeing Arthur so broken and unaccepting, not without sacrificing pieces of himself to try and fix it all. "And _of course_ it helps to remember them and live for them and see and do things for them, Arthur, you owe them that much. Think about it, would Mallorie Cobb really want to see you this distraught and giving up, throwing up your hands and insisting to stay on a no name planet for the rest of your days? Arthur, darling, please. You know no one would want that of you." He might only have heard two things about Arthur’s former CO, but he was certain that if Arthur liked her and respected her as much as he did she was not someone who would walk over Arthur in the remotest sense.

Arthur slumped, his hostility fading into wariness. He turned his face away. "You first," he said guardedly, watching out of the corner of his eyes. Eames felt his heart drop. He’d keep his word but he just hoped that opening this door would help Arthur in turn.

He smiled sadly instead, standing as Ariadne returned with a clay cup of water.

"Are... You guys going to be alright?"

It seemed as though she believed them, which was as good as it was going to get for now. "Thank you and I think so," he sighed, taking it from her and handing the pad back, "but we'll need some time if you don't mind. I promise we won't get up to any dangerous activities in the meanwhile. I know you're curious but I'm afraid a third person would only make the whole situation uncomfortable. Also I'm not sure you want to hear gruesome war stories or see grown men cry." He smiled crookedly, and she huffed but nodded, lowering the tent flap behind her.

He'd bet a pretty penny she'd be eavesdropping outside. It was probably for the best. He would rather Arthur remain blissfully oblivious.

He returned to the bed, handing the cup off to Arthur. He could have taken the chair but he wasn't sure he could do eye contact.

"Our brigade was a tight knit group, as you can imagine. Brigade is a bit of a strong word, I guess, it was a hundred people for starters give or take twenty. We lost some, we won some, we grieved them all, it was wartime, we moved on. We had the three ships to fit us all, Sparrow, Owl and Albatross, Sparrow being mine." Eames resisted the urge to scratch at the tattoo of the name and number, entwining his fingers on his lap instead. He was starting far off the point but that was the only way to do it. "I mean, they didn't actually have names, but you get tired of reciting numbers at one point, so that's what we called them. Of course, they weren't much use in the end, but I like to remember them fondly. We were...

"We were on Meadow, this was after the Shadow bombings. And you would think we would have been prepared, have our defenses against superior tech, because it wasn't as if we had superior numbers, oh, no. By that time we were down to maybe fifty men, good men, the names of whom I can count off in my sleep. Often did, in fact.

"They were a family to me - I hadn't wanted to join anything for anyone, wanted to ride into the sunset, wind in my hair, that sort of childish dribble. There's not a whole lot quite like being guilted into joining a supposedly great cause to get your spirits down. Because we were almost clearly on the losing side. But you know what, they took care of me. A bunch of them were even younger than me but as much as we butted heads - I couldn't keep my opinions to myself even then, a terrible thing for morale - they taught me how to shoot, how to duck, how to defend myself and had my back the whole time. It was something I really didn't deserve, but it was the only reason I didn't get shot within the first week." He drew a shaky breath, clearing his throat, pretending the texture on the canvas walls was supremely fascinating.

"Well, on Meadow, we keep on being told to advance, to advance, leave our cover and end this. There's no choice but to follow orders and we're in a clearing, a nice little circle like mice in a cage and.. There's. There's this bright light everywhere. That's first. Nothing like the light of the flares, it's pure and white. Then there's the noise and heat that's melting your skin off, and it wasn't even like someone had triggered a bomb, no, it was a wave set out to emanate from the perimeter of the circle and just kill everyone inside. They were just testing it out on us, too, it was some developmental thing and I guess it wasn't perfect because in the middle of all that there's a spot, there's the eye of the storm, there's enough room for just the one person. And that person was me.

"When I woke up, several hours had passed and it's morning and whoever it was we were up against had long cleared out, leaving us all for dead. And I'm covered in ash, in the ashes of my own team. Everyone on the perimeter evaporated completely, not even their dog tags were left after what happened. But those close to my center..." He shook his head, covering his eyes with his hand. It was all too easy to picture on the heels of the nightmare. Parts of burned bodies, black silhouettes covered with the gray dust of ash. He disguised a small sob with a cough. "And I have to live with that every day, that I was a useless, thankless son of a bitch for whom fifty people gave their life that day, who couldn't even finish the job they started. Who after everything didn't want to even try to finish it.

"It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. It just was. It was seven years ago and I keep dreaming of it, except everything is wet instead of dry and the wave comes again to finish what it started. That doesn't even begin to cover the accusations that start flying when you're the last man standing but I doubt I can go into those." After he was collected by the remaining Independent forces he was numb enough to withstand the grilling. Then he was simply discharged. No apologies or anything just a bunch of dog tags to remember his team by. He huffed out a shuddered breath, shaking out the tremor in his good hand. It didn't much help but he kept up the bitter, harshly joking tone. "That’s it, that’s the story..." He had no conclusion for it.

Arthur’s hand brushed his bad one, covering it and offering the cup of water. "That shouldn't have happened," he said uselessly. "And I know you. If you had known that where you stood was safe you would have made sure someone else was there instead."

Eames sighed, flipping his hand over to take Arthur's. It was the sappiest gesture, but he intertwined their fingers anyway, making a little ball of warmth. He didn't know if he would have put someone else in his place. He couldn't say for certain and that was the second half of his troubling thoughts. Arthur knew the Eames that he was now, the one that was trying to atone for everything he did, the one that was scared of explosions and missed his mother and home more than anything but couldn't, wouldn't go back. The one still stuck in the explosion was young, irate and selfish enough to believe everything would resolve itself without him. That one would still be home, probably tinkering with commissions from his father's shipyard, married to a seamstress that reminded him of his mother. He didn't want that, not since that day.

"I was part of a Patrol," Arthur started after a pause. It looked like he also needed to start from the general before he got to the specific. "Small team, sometimes led by Dom, usually by Mal, we were reconnaissance but we were in enough scrapes to be a combat team. First ones on the ground, first ones dead, but the Cobbs were good. We lost people, some guys couldn't handle the stress of being on point, but the three of us? I thought," his face twisted. "I thought we were going to make it. Four years we had each other's six, and we were so close, and we were going to survive and..." He closed his eyes. "And we were going to retire to Bellerophon, and they were going to have two kids - and I didn't even like kids, but god, I would have loved theirs, I was going to be an uncle..." He had to stop and wipe away tears, clearing his throat angrily.

"About two months before the end, the colonel gave me my own squad, and sent Dom and Mal ahead, way into the Outer Rim. A couple days later, we picked up a distress call from them. The colonel set up a team, and I made sure I was on it. We found their ship, the engine burnt out, but they were the only ones on board, barely conscious and we brought them onto ours and I was just so fucking relieved to have them back... I sat with them in the infirmary until the medic forced me to leave, I don't even remember heading for the quarters, but I woke up to gunshots and screaming. It was - It was Mal, and there corpses at her feet and she told me," he inhaled sharply, "She said they were weak, and she knelt down with a knife and just started slicing, he was already dead... Those photos were what was discovered on their ship that we’d missed on the first sweep but I guess... I went to stop her, but she shot me and I fell. She walked over to me, and knelt down, and I could see. It wasn't- it wasn't her. Something changed, and she told me to join her, tried to hand me the knife but I threw it -" he choked, and then composed himself. "Dom stabbed her, she died instantly and Dom begged me to stay with him, but I passed out. Woke up in the hospital.

"He visited, once, just before I was released. He said not to follow him, made me swear and I did. The next morning he was dead too, couldn't live without Mal, but he expected me to live without either of them. He just... left me behind." He sighed shakily, but was more relaxed now. "Some officials came to take my statements, Dysart had already given his, something about an Independent sneaking on board, and I went along, because whatever killed them, it wasn't Mal."

He inhaled deeply and cleared his throat. "Satisfied?"

It was a heavy secret Arthur had been carrying, truly and Eames frowned, quickly cataloging the facts. Arthur hadn’t mentioned any evidence of an attack so... Space madness..? He hadn't thought it was actually true, but by the description it sounded right. The circumstances were odd, it was usually told as people who were lost in space for years on their lonesome. But four years on the front lines... It wasn't unimaginable that something had snapped in the quiet vacuum. It was no surprise Arthur was so hard to get through to, if things played out that way. Betrayed and abandoned, if unwittingly, it was enough for anyone to develop major trust issues and a nightmare like that... The panic attacks and unwillingness to talk explained themselves easily. And the Alliance blamed it all on Arthur... He ignored the last note of wounded bravado, carefully reaching up to brush the wetness on Arthur’s cheek away with the side of his hand, leaving the now empty cup on the side of the bed, tucking long strands of hair behind Arthur's ear.

"Would you believe me if I said we were friends now?" he asked, smiling slightly and leaving the story be. He wasn’t qualified to give opinions on something that horrible, just listen. "You know me, I know you and I'm not leaving anywhere without you, alright? And we'll figure out what's going on with your people and we'll fix it and if we can't and we don't end up dead, I'll invite you to run away with me, if you will, and see the 'Verse. Is that alright?" He sounded terrible to his own ears but it was the truth and he wasn't taking it back.

Arthur pulled away deliberately, steeling himself and adorning a stern expression. "Don't. I don't care if you think you're helping but obviously I can't go back, you were right, the Alliance wants me dead. I hope you're happy. And do not give me some tired tripe about being there for me, that's just horseshit that people think they mean, and you're an asshole for trying to use it on me after what I've just told you. You think I'm not aware I have abandonment issues? It's printed across every single psychological profile I've had done and highlighted. That was fucking low."

"I should have seen that coming. You are so cute when you get defensive." Eames rolled his eyes and didn't take offense, shrugging. He _had_ seen it coming, if he were honest, and it could have been far worse. "I do mean it, you know. Like I said, I'm not going anywhere without you, literally, I will not take off without you, no matter how many cold and hungry refugees I have piled in my ship. And you're a fool if you think otherwise, no matter what your fancy psychological profile says. You think I don't have a nice list of issues the length of my leg? But I'm saying it because it's the truth. But that's an eventuality, now you're stuck with me without me having to even lift a finger." He rubbed his hand on his pant leg, rubbing off the prickling warmth it had accumulated. "I bet your dumplings are cold now. Here. Better late than never."

"What if I don't want to go?" Arthur asked ignoring the offer of dumplings, "I doubt everyone here will want to give up their homes and start from scratch out in the 'Verse. It would be safer, where the Alliance won't look for me. If you get stopped for anything with me on board, you'll be arrested. And I'm not stuck with you. I could leave right now, and stay on your ship while I do the repairs. Yusuf could keep you here drugged out of your mind so you can't follow me and hurt yourself."

He eyed the plate of bao as Eames gestured with it again but said "I'm not interested. You can have them."

"Arthur, I think we're forgetting a couple of small details here." Eames put the plate of bao down and brought up his good hand, ticking off fingers for every point he made. "One, that would not be the first time I'd be risking arrest, I do that on a fairly constant basis. Two, there isn't exactly a steady supply of food here. Nor a steady supply of anything. Unless starving to death or being accidentally flattened by some unlucky ship is someone's thing, I'm fairly certain most people will want to leave. Three, _I'm_ friends with Yusuf, not you, which means he won't do what you say, especially questionable things like that." He raised his eyebrows as punctuation. "But far be it for me to object to your portion. Again." He bit into one, making a show of enjoying it, eating slowly.

"Maybe I don't want to live my life tucked away in the bowels of your ship until one of us slips up and we both end up arrested or dead," Arthur said, but his heart wasn’t in it, tracking the movement of the food in Eames’ hand. "I'll manage, I know how to survive. I'm sure there's indigenous food sources. As for Yusuf, I think your health comes before mine in his eyes. He'll make sure you stay and rest, not go off into the woods after me." He caught sight of the bao again and swallowed. "You needed it more than I did and I'd had something earlier."

"I never said that. But so you'd rather live your life tucked away in god knows where land? Become a hermit? I really don't think a beard would suit you. And Yusuf can't exactly tie me to the bed, I'd managed to lose him when I hadn't even been trying. He's a busy man, you know." Eames finished the bun, licking his fingers. He wasn't exactly enjoying the fact that Arthur was refusing to eat again, even though he was clearly starving, so he forwent reaching for another one for the time being in exchange for being obnoxious with his fingers.

"Then it's a good thing no one would be around to see it," Arthur said smartly, "You would really come after me? Eames, what if I don't want you around?" he asked in exasperation.

"I'd be around anyway, obviously, if you really insist on staying I'd have to bring you supplies, wouldn't I? I couldn't in good conscience just leave, that would be tantamount to murder. And please, who wouldn't want me around? I'm a great conversationalist, especially with myself," Eames joked, "Also, you know that part where I can tell when you're lying? Would it really kill you to eat, they were for you," he gave in, gesturing to the plate. "Really, Arthur, you're being impossible again."

"Fine," Arthur said, annoyed, as he reached for one of them. Of course he was hungry, judging by the way he wolfed down the first small bun. Now he just had to convince Arthur to eat the rest. He innocently sucked on the tip of his index finger for good measure before putting the plate on Arthur's lap. Splitting Arthur's attention between a bunch of different things seemed immensely effective. Not to mention he'd already had a taste to whet his appetite.

"Good cook, good cuddle buddy, good storyteller, what's not to like? Go on, eat, stop pretending."

Arthur frowned down at the plate Eames left in his lap. "Not to mention your modesty," he quipped, dryly, before giving in and picking up another one and devouring it only a little bit slower than the first then immediately grabbed the next one.

"Oh yes, that especially!"

"Would you want the company?" Arthur asked, challenging and guarded and as if expecting a 'no.' "You've kicked people off your ship before because you 'work better alone'."

This was much better than ruminating on the most depressing subjects they could possibly dig up. Eames grinned and would have leaned back if he had both arms. Now, he had to remain mostly upright watching Arthur eat, finally.

"But, _darling_ , I didn't know you'd want to go into the business. I thought you were too honorable for that," Eames carefully redirected the flow of conversation, keeping his tone joking. It was true, he'd never actively wanted anyone to travel with him. Arthur seemed to be the exception to the rule. Arthur seemed to be the exception to many a rule, really, starting with his background and ending with Eames' never-ending sexual frustration. And he found he didn't much care either way. He was happy to be stuck in this situation, however permanently. It was a troubling yet not surprising thought. "And, come on, there's no way you wouldn't miss your fancy tailored clothes and shiny hair gel. You'd hate it here, I know it."

"Well, I'm not going to be a kept man," Arthur said flatly and Eames grinned.

"No, never," he said, bumping their shoulders.

"All my life I've been what the Alliance made me," Arthur started again, more serious but with some measure of uncertainty. "I've been a soldier, I've been an agent, I've followed the rules and guidelines, I've done everything they've asked." Arthur looked at him. "Now, the Alliance has made me a criminal, I think I want to make them regret it."

Eames hadn't expected the conversation to turn in that specific way. Arthur, considering joining him? "What, really?" he blinked, looking at Arthur with a new wonder, trying not to be completely slack-jawed and failing miserably.

"If that's what you really want, Arthur, I think there's no harm in trying." That was a bit of an understatement. He was only too happy if this turned out to be a real development. "Whatever you chose, you should really want it. At least I think so. There's so many places you'll get to see if you decide on it..." His mind was only too happy to supply various imagery of them working together among lively underworld docks, inside fabulous empty palaces. He knew Arthur was immensely capable. Surviving point for four years was nothing to sneeze at, nor was his aim. They would be able to pull things he would never have thought to attempt by himself. But he was getting ahead of himself and probably lighting up like a child on Yuletide. "So no handcuffs then?" he joked again trying to draw attention away from his rather childlike excitement. What was with him?

"Like you said, worth a try. And depends on how irritating you are," Arthur deadpanned. "How's your shoulder?"

"Ah, I'll try not to be too annoying, then. Don't think I could handle it, really, until this goes away." Eames nodded to his shoulder. "And that's not happening any time very soon. But hurts like a bitch, thanks for asking. I've been ignoring it, but it's getting worse. I don't like this being hurt business, it's really annoying." He sighed. "At least Yusuf hasn’t assigned me a sling, I probably would have died of discomfort had I been forced into that. I mean, Yusuf said I was lucky it didn't sever the rotator cuffs and I can still use it at all but a sling, really?" He rolled his eyes this time. As long as everything was okay, he would like to take it for granted. "Also I would really love a shirt at some point in the near future. The breeze can get quite chilly, no matter how warm it is."

"You should have said something about the pain," Arthur berated mildly, "and I'll find you a shirt and some water." He left the bed and opened up the tent flap, stopping short as he revealed Ariadne puttering around innocently outside. Eames had called it.

"I had to know," she explained, almost apologetic, "I'm the one that brought you here. And I want to help. I know you aren't a psychopath, and I'd like to get out of here, too, so do you still have that list? We could check out the scrapyard. I want to help and you can count on me to talk to anyone who... finds out." They moved apart to let Yusuf inside, and Eames watched Arthur nod through the space between the flaps, before opening it wider with one hand. Eames waved, a shooing gesture, just in case Arthur was torn between taking care of Eames and actually going to go do something useful.

"He needs painkillers, water and a shirt. I’ll... see you later."

\-----

Arthur surveyed the area, noting it was a considerable amount of scrap. A lot of ships must have crashed and Arthur found himself reminded of his father discussing the Bermuda Triangle back on Earth-That-Was. He shut down the memory fast, and started heading in, forcing the stiffness from his knee. "A new windshield, pulse defragmentor, some paneling," he rattled off the more important parts as Ariadne made her way through the rubbish beside him.

"A pulse defragmentor, that's going to be hard... Those things are the first to go out as people are trying to break..." Ariadne ducked around one of the piles, shaking it up in an attempt to get to the parts further inside. It all came apart in a loud ruckus and she waited until it settled down before continuing. "We have an enormous amount of paneling, though. So how did you and Eames meet?"

Arthur had started on sorting through the closest pile since there was no organization to speak of, but his head popped up to look at Ariadne. It was harmless information compared to what she already knew, if he thought about it. "He stole medicine from a hospital on Ariel and then came into my office to report the crime." _Arrogant 龟儿子_ , Arthur thought almost fondly. "How did you end up here?" he asked back, shaking off the strange nostalgia as he put aside a broken coupling slightly smaller than his head. Eames had a few spares on board, so Arthur didn't concern himself with whether or not this coupling could be fixed.

"Really? He just walked into a station and said 'hey, I stole this stuff'? What is he, completely insane? And I'm guessing it worked, too, since you're both here now and not at work and in jail respectively. How much did he steal?" She backtracked a bit, realizing he’d asked a question. "I was on my way from Beaumonde to the Core to go to school. I managed to sleep through the whole crash, too, and the quarters were the only thing that survived. I guess everyone else hadn't spent their whole night fretting what to bring to school." She carefully bent down to dig through the pile that was now around her knees.

Arthur scoffed a bit, his pride rearing up at not being able to catch Eames that day. "Not quite, he went under an alias and claimed to be a witness, a first-time tourist. I thought he was sketchy, but I couldn't pin anything on him. And then I saw him in a restaurant, ordering off the menu without a word and when I went to confront him, an entirely different accent," he elaborated. "He ended up making off with over a million credits worth of medicine." Arthur still hadn't managed to figure it out. Air ducts? He kept picking through various parts of equal uselessness to them.

"A million?? Ooh. That's enough to make someone bitter I imagine. What was this super valuable medicine he stole? Was it some sort of prototype to be worth that much? And how did you end up on a ship together after that? You're clearly sleeping together, so something must have happened. Is it a forbidden romance or something, cause it sure looks like it."

Arthur had to take a moment to gather his thoughts, the question regarding the drugs Eames had stolen ignored in favor of the far more personal one. "Eames and I are not, nor have we ever, slept together. No. I ran into him while on an investigation that went south on Persephone and I used him to get out of a tight spot. I owe him and that's all there is between us." He could feel his ears flaming traitorously, despite the fact most of the words were true. "I have no interest in an unkempt, uncultured, 变态, asshole," he insisted, slightly flustered at how very close Ariadne had been. He cleared his throat, composed once more.

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Especially considering, yeah, you've slept together, just last night if you recall. And your ears are turning pink. I'm not sure why though, he's a charmer and he likes you, which must be a miracle within itself judging by your habitual first impressions. But whatever you say. Must be one of those moral things." Ariadne raised her eyebrows pointedly before turning back to her pile.

Arthur gave her a stern glance. "That's actually not what that phrase means," Arthur corrected rather than continue on a circular conversation about Eames and his numerous attributes and foibles, and how Arthur had no interest either way. "It's from an old English play, and the better translation would be 'The Lady doth _profess_ too much, methinks' Queen Gertrude thought the Queen in the play expressed too much adoration for the King." It wasn't as though he could argue her other points, he had shared the bed with Eames, though he hadn't been _sleeping_ with him, and now it was difficult to think of anything but Eames' hands on him. He focused on the task of finding parts, moving on to the next pile.

Ariadne squinted, annoyed, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "In common language it means what it means. And I think the even more correct translation, if I remember right, would be vow or declare, whether in the negative or positive sense is moot point because we're not even arguing Shakespeare here. But whatever you say, like I said," she huffed, rolling her eyes.

Arthur smiled a bit: she knew her stuff. "In literature, context is everything," he said, but he would let the subject drop for his own sake. The pile he had been rooting around in turned up nothing and he moved on to the next, undeterred. He could spend the whole day here and the next, however long it took to examine everything in the scrapyard. He tried to ignore the ache in his knee, but he gave in and paused to massage it. It reminded him the knee was whole. "What were you going to school for, and what school?"

"Architecture at the Ecole in New Paris on Bernadette. Not that I ever got to see what that was like. And I was really looking forward to the Earth-That-Was museum, too."

 _Small 'Verse_ , he couldn't help but think, falling quiet. He resumed sorting out bits and pieces, adding to the growing pile of paneling. "We can drop you off there, once we get Rook back in the air. How long have you been here?"

"Two years. If I were honest I'd rather you drop me off home, on Hera. My parents must be worried sick if they don’t think me dead already. And before you ask, yes, there are perfectly good schools on Hera, it's really not so plebeian agriculture as people make it out to be. Of course, that's all given we can get it back in the air. I'm optimistic, but if we don't find a defragmentor, a whole ship isn't going to do us much good."

She was from Hera? Smaller and smaller. "You'd have to talk to Eames about that one," he admitted. He wouldn't say more on the subject, that was Eames' business and honestly he didn't have the particulars.

"Oh yeah. He does have that tattoo on his right arm, doesn't he? It's abstract but it says Hera and has the two stars and everything. Guess he's from a different part, it's a pretty big planet. I’ll ask."

"What if he doesn't want to talk about it?" Arthur asked, recalling the difference in Eames when they broached the topic of landing on Hera. The only time Eames had shut him out.

"He has it tattooed big and bold on his shoulder, what do you mean he doesn't want to talk about it? I doubt he'd be against hearing what's been going on, at least news of two years ago. If he's not from the city, he must be from one the towns and those people are always terrible gossips. Only people worse are those from the city who think themselves so very important." 

He also didn't have a sure answer to that, only able to suggest that he'd had it done before whatever kept him away from his home planet, and a tattoo wasn't exactly an invitation to discuss, was it? But for all Arthur knew, Eames simply didn't wish to discuss it with him. They hadn't been friends at the time and Arthur wasn't entirely sure he'd call them friends now, actually, no matter what Eames said. In the end she could ask if she liked. It would be nice to have her enthusiastic curiosity focused elsewhere. "About how often do ships crash? We're bound to run into a working defragmentor."

"They crash around once a week to once a month, depending on the season."

Arthur filed it away. "What season are we in then?"

"We're just coming out of tourism season so the amount of crashes should go down. Which is both good and bad." Ariadne sighed. "You never said what Eames made off with, anyway."

"It was a great deal of antibiotics, antivirals, steroids, antihistamines, and narcotics. Nearly wiped the entire supply room." And Arthur thought it was fine to be both awed and angered by it. Maybe he'd ask Eames how he did it but then he'd also rather figure it out on his own.

"A whole supply room?! Didn't you say he said he prefers to work alone?" Ariadne paused slightly, realizing that part had been overheard, then kicked over another one of the piles with a racket, digging to get out the long piece of metal underneath it all. "How did he manage to get it all out by himself? That must have taken days so no one would notice."

It was more than a little mortifying to admit he didn't know, precisely, how Eames had managed it. If he had swiped the medication over a series of days, someone should have noticed far sooner, or, conversely, it shouldn't have been noticed at all until someone compiled a quarterly inventory report and compared it to the patient dosages, had the whole supply room not just been cleared out. Arthur had been disappointed to find how infrequently the hospital ran checks, sitting on months of data that took nearly as many to sort out.

They continued to sort through scrap, gathering an impressive amount of metal they could weld together and use to replace much of damaged the exterior before the sun started to dip.

Soon there wouldn't be enough light to see by and even Arthur had to admit he was tired. Ariadne was moving more sluggishly as well, and their conversation, which had started to shift from prying into pleasant at some point, had mostly died down. "We should drop this off and call it. There's a few things I need on the ship," he said, at last, wiping his brow.

"Thank god," Ariadne said and perked back up at the thought of heading back. The conversation resumed, he admitted to almost being an architect and they had started in on a list of famous styles and infamous ones - Arthur wasn't nearly as versed in at she was, but he could hold his own and she seemed happy to state her opinions either way. They loaded up the transport, and she asked about Ariel, both the city and the planet, and that was an easy topic.

She responded with stories about her home and her family, asked after his and he talked a little about them, that the very museum she mentioned had been where they met and proposed, and visited nearly every anniversary. The ache it stirred was minimal and he stuffed it down out of habit. They unloaded, leaving the collection outside the ship because scavengers where hardly an issue.

He punched in the code to lower the gang plank - he'd done a manual reset from the console while the others had been in town, assuming he'd need access to the ship. He'd have to remember to tell Eames that before they left. Ariadne followed him on board, helping him gather clothes and books and then heading back to the transporter and into town while keeping a steady conversation, though Ariadne had more or less taken over. It suited Arthur just fine.

He gathered up what would be his and Eames' belongings from the back and began heading for their tent - assuming Eames would still be in bed - while Ariadne left to see what food she could scrounge. They'd arrived a little late for dinner and chances were there wouldn't be much if someone hadn't saved a portion for them.

\---

Eames spent the time before dinner meditating on the texture and opacity of the fabric of the tent through his eyelashes, watching the sunlight slowly track across. It was nice to be planetside but the eerie lack of bird song or crickets or even waves didn't sit well. Although his walkabout with Yusuf had been fun, visiting all the different folk who happened to be sick at the moment. Even so, the faster his shoulder healed the faster they could repair the ship and get off this planet. He'd decided they were going to fix Rook, no matter how unlikely it seemed now.

He was startled out of his doze by Morena, an aging Companion he’d met earlier, inviting him to dinner and passing along a message from Yusuf that he’d need the shirt Eames had borrowed back eventually. If before he intensely disliked the way she asked him prying questions under the guise of small talk and managed to condescend to him at the same time, now she just made him nervous, even though she seemed to like him well enough. It felt like she was deciding if he passed or failed some test and he made sure to lose her in the dinner crowd. It wasn't hard in the steady coming and going of people, most of them wanting to at least say hi but never staying long.

Arthur and Ariadne were still nowhere to be found so Eames made sure to grab two extra plates, putting them down on one of the tables, passing the time by chatting with late comers. Ariadne showed first, giving him a hug for the plate before complaining about the lipstick on his cheek - Morena’s doing, he told her - and some joke about Arthur being jealous. Eames rubbed at it absentmindedly, still trying to get it off without a mirror, giving in to her sudden barrage of questions and comments about Hera. It took him a little bit before he figured out she meant to say it was her homeworld, too, but was too excited to actually state it clearly. Eames grinned. Small universe.

"I assume Yusuf knows you're here," Arthur said instead of hello as he sat down, starting in on dinner.

"I missed you, too, and of course he does," Eames answered, rolling his eyes. "Don't be such a worrywart. And speaking of Yusuf, he said I was to oversee that you do appropriate exercises for your knee, given I am the person you are least likely to fatally harm." Ariadne snorted into her potatoes.

"You have a concussion and are on pain medication with unknown side effects; I feel more comfortable with your doctor knowing where you are," Arthur said dryly, ignoring the part about his knee and taking a bite of his dinner as Ariadne chastised him.

"Arthur, is that any way to treat someone who had saved us from certain death by starvation?"

"Should I have groveled at his feet?" Arthur asked, heavily sarcastic and with a raised eyebrow.

The two seemed to be getting along, then. Perfect. The day had not been a total waste.

"And he is totally willing to talk about Hera, see? What town did you say you were from?"

"Dell and I ain't your bloody show pony, knock it off and eat your food, you haven't stopped talking since you sat down. It can't be Arthur rubbing off on you. What did you tell her that's gotten her this excited?" He couldn't think of a single thing besides perhaps the interest in architecture they had in common. Did that mean Arthur was sharing? Even better. He scrubbed at his cheek one more time before giving it up as a useless endeavor without water. Hopefully getting into the showers wasn't too much of a hassle, especially with his shoulder.

"I'm obviously over my concussion, and I'm making sure not to walk into anything if that's what you mean. Whatever Yusuf gave me doesn't have the usual drowsy side effects so all is well in my book. I even took a nap today, that's how much I care about my recovery," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "But are you two gossiping about me now?" Eames blinked, looking between them. "I've told you stuff about Hera before, Arthur, even when you were still trying to arrest me. I can only list off facts I know from somewhere, after all."

"Describing the night sky is hardly talking about Hera," Arthur said.

"You talked about the night sky?" Ariadne teased, "Very romantic."

Arthur glared.

"Oh, yes, very romantic. There was even a hotel bed involved and everything," Eames said, straight faced. Whatever Arthur'd led Ariadne to believe about them - it had probably been an accident because this was Arthur - he wasn't about to do him any favors.

Ariadne's eyes grow comically wide and she looked at Arthur as though he had denied her a Yultide gift by omitting that fact. "Is that true?" she asked, turning skeptic. Arthur tried to step in and take control because leaving it in Eames' hands had proven more disastrous from him.

"Ariadne, stop. I told you, there is nothing."

Ariadne responded with a sardonic, "Clearly."

"Oh, yes, it was almost as romantic as that dinner we had when we first met, fancy French place on Ariel, Arthur knows how to treat a girl right." Now he was just making it worse, ignoring Arthur's protestations and he wasn't even lying.

Arthur made a distinctly unamused face, before ignoring Eames and telling Ariadne, "'The Lady doth protest too much, methinks,'" which was met with loud, unrestrained laughter.

"Inside jokes already?" Eames pouted before finally chuckling as Ariadne's laughter turned contagious. "That's not nice. It's only been one day. Did you kids find anything in the scrapyard that's even vaguely useable?" he changed the subject.

"We're not _kids_. But yeah, we found some stuff. There's a windshield that will need to be sanded down, but we can figure it out," Ariadne said, trying to chew her food as she spoke.

"I don't know about not being kids, I feel like your stay at home mother who has to save you meals because you're not responsible enough to have lunch on your own terms. It doesn't help that you're short." And he wasn't above using it against her. 

"I might be short, but at least I can lift both arms over my head." She demonstrated in case Eames doubted her abilities.

"Sure, kick me while I'm down, why not. Give me a week and I'll lift _you_ over my head."

"Anyway, more like we're the breadwinners that just got back from work and you're the lazy friend that has to crash at our place, damn straight you owe us dinner," Ariadne said, playing defensive.

"Then I demand my fair share of bread please, oh great breadwinners. All we have here's potatoes and a bit of runny stew." Although it was not too bad as far as stew on a lost planet went but this was fun anyway.

"And between the two of you, I thought Arthur would be the one complaining about the food, considering he had his own chef growing up, and ate at fancy restaurants all the time," Ariadne said, but twirled her spoon forlornly. She probably missed it.

"Arthur just doesn't eat, his favorite food is bananas, so it's up to me to pick up the food snobbishness." Concrete proof that Arthur was sharing. Good good. "Not to mention fancy restaurants are still restaurants and home-cooked stuff is far better. Speaking of which, what's your favorite food?"

"I would actually kill for some bananas, or any fruit at all. But I guess my favorite would be, just, my mom's cooking. Though I wouldn't turn down a fancy French restaurant. You should take me out sometime, Arthur," she teased.

"Considering the number of downed vessels, there's a fair chance of a reparable defragmentor," Arthur cut in.

"And ships crash all the time, and even if you guys are stuck here for a few months, I mean there are worse things." Ariadne chimed in hopping onto that topic easily. It really did seem like they got along.

"Only the pulse defragmentor is it? That's not going to be an easy find." Eames shook his head and rubbed mindlessly at his cheek again. He hadn't exactly seen the extent of the damage, so he couldn't say for certain they could find everything they needed just in his storage. Not to mention all of it probably got banged around thoroughly during their landing, so how much of that was useable was also under question.

"Lipstick?" Arthur asked, catching Eames’ mindless rubbing. Ariadne shot Eames a pointed look.

His mood soured immediately and he rubbed at it with more vigour, at the same time answering Ariadne with an eyeroll, thus managing to have two conversations at once. "Oh gods, don't ask. I don't appreciate being tested through subversive psychological methods. And not being told my results later."

"What?" Arthur blinked.

Ariadne nodded sagely and asked, "Morena?"

"'What?' is not not asking about it, Arthur. But Yusuf, well, no, he mentioned that there's a licensed - at least previously - Companion living in this town and I had the misfortune of running into her on my own. Twice. I can't say if she likes me or if she doesn't like me or if she wants something from me and it's just not. A good feeling. I like to know. Also I might have to add being treated like a grandchild on to my list of traumas, right between clowns and drowning. Is she always like that?"

Arthur rolled his eyes but didn’t apologise.

"She probably likes you, but yeah, it's hard to tell at first. Morena knows people, obviously, and she usually lets people know eventually if she thinks you should hear it and it's good advice. She'll probably want to meet Arthur at some point," Ariadne said.

"But I don't know if the fact that she does like me makes me more or less nervous. Also I'm not one hundred percent on if Arthur can survive that particular encounter without blowing one fuse or another, what with his penchant of yelling at people who just want to help, forget people who have some hidden motive."

"You don't seemed to be eager for her guidance either," Arthur stated dryly.

"Damn straight I don't want any guidance from her. Unless she has a brilliant mind for mechanics and spacecraft, I would enjoy spending as much time as possible actively avoiding her, thank you." It was a bit of an extreme reaction but he wasn't going to seek her out either. "I don't like wiles, especially when they're not my own."

"You won’t be here long anyway - just enough to fix up Rook, find a reparable defragmentor and be on our way."

"I suppose," Eames half shrugged, sobering. "It's anyone's guess whether a repaired one will get us out of the atmosphere and out of this planet's pull. That's the hard part, but really all we need if we can send a distress signal." If it came to that, Arthur might be better off not coming after all and Eames could sneak him out later. But they would cross that bridge when they got to it.

"I'll take another look at the engine, see if we can give it more power. I don't suppose you have autopilot so we can test if she can break atmo without putting someone at risk?" Arthur asked.

"You can't autopilot something out of atmo unless it's a drone specifically designed to do that. If you could, you wouldn't need a pilot. Same thing with landing." He shook his head again. "If we get the parts we don't need to talk about testing it. If we can't there's not even a point." A half shrug again, the only thing he was capable of.

The few people lingering at the tables had started to leave, returning to their homes with only a few glances paid to their group. Darkness seemed to be descending fast.

"It's been a hell of a day, I will tell you that much. I'm beat," Ariadne said, interrupting the settled silence and stretching her shoulders. "We'll go back tomorrow?" she asked as she stood and Arthur nodded in agreement. "Oh, and the guys' showers are just over that way," she informed them, pointing, "it's just a tall spigot, but it's better than nothing. Also, don't use up all the soap, it's not easy to come by. Night!" With that she was off.

"We'll find the parts, assuming otherwise would mean we're giving up. So stow your shit and start helping me figure out the safest way to get off this planet," Arthur said fiercely, turning to face Eames.

"Get off my back about being within spitting range of a doctor and maybe we'll get somewhere." Eames raised his eyebrows and would have crossed his arms if he could. "I'm not forcing you to sit all day because your knee is acting up. My pushups may be suffering but I don't need to do those to look at my own ship, do I? It's been a good two days and I haven't even seen the extent of the damage for myself." It was frustrating to just sit around, and even if he did get acquainted with a good portion of the town, he could be doing more useful things.

"Eames, you had a branch go _straight through_ your shoulder and a concussion," Arthur said through gritted teeth. "Your ship is twenty minutes out, if your stitches rip open because you get dizzy for a second and fall you could set your recovery even further back. Yusuf didn't take you out to see your ship while I was gone, which tells me either you didn't ask or in his opinion you were not equipped to head out that far. You want to know everything that's wrong with your ship and the parts you still need, here," Arthur said, reaching into his pocket and drawing out the list he'd scrawled out while the others had been in town. He dropped the folded papers on the table. 

"I felt I was lucky enough to tag along on his rounds and not be handcuffed to the bed, and we're not going to be _walking_ there, Arthur. And it's not like I don't trust you, darling, but I would still like to see it for myself. Because she's my ship and my home and if I can't help her, I'd like to make a hospital visit at least. Attend the funeral. And speaking of the crash, Yusuf said you were trying to saw off the branch with a kitchen knife? And only let anyone on because I was hurt? That's oddly the opposite of everything you have been telling me."

"What are you looking for Eames? Yes, I tried to save your life, fine," he said as though it didn't matter and began heading for the tent.

Eames stood to follow, quickly flipping through the papers as he walked. "I mean with all that 'oh you died, so I decided to chuck you in the garbage' thing was a little bit hurtful and it wouldn't hurt to know you cared that I was in an emergency. Preferably from your own mouth when you're in a level set of mind." It was dumb and he probably shouldn't be so honest. Nightmares and trauma were one thing, feelings were another. So he made it sound flat, busying himself with Arthur's cramped handwriting. "But other people proving to me you don't actually hate me works well enough, I guess." Several holes in the hull, that wasn't exactly specific. Arthur might know where the damage was specifically but just notes didn't do it. It was like looking through a client's notes before the ship go to the repair yard. He never did it, it was never the whole situation. Maybe if Arthur drew him a picture, it would be better. He ducked into the tent after him, half surprised to see piles of clothes on the bed. He needed to return Yusuf's shirt.

"Eames, I didn't chuck you out into the fucking garbage. I did what I could, and then I backed off and let people that weren't in fucking shock that their - that _you_ were dying step in. I told you, I ran away the only way I could, because I'm tired of losing people. So tell me, in what possible way did I chuck you into the garbage, because it looks like I did a pretty damn good job at keeping you _alive._ " He bustled about gathering clothes and bandages, grabbing the lantern as well.

"Didn't make that clear enough I guess. Well, I'm glad I found out at some point. You're awfully quick to presume people dead that you won't hold their hand even after they're confirmed alive. No matter, like you said, bang up job not the not killing Eames, Arthur." Eames kept his voice as level as possible, the tired notes truer than the rest of it. He probably shouldn't have brought it up and it only made sense that Arthur had been in shock, of course he had been, but he'd oscillated between behaviors so quickly it was hard to tell which of them was actually truer to the real way he felt. A sigh and he ducked a little bit backwards as Arthur turned sharply around, before casting a confused glance at the two pairs of shirts and pants and the pile of bandages that Arthur was carrying, before they were out of his view a split second later as Arthur squeezed past him. "Just forget it, sorry I brought it up- Wait, what are you doing? Where are we going and why are you carrying two pairs of things?"

He had to jog to catch up now, getting to Arthur only as he turned on the spigot. It was little more than an absurdly tall pipe with a shower head attached and a metal plate to stand on. There was also a sheet of metal a few feet over littered with dark towels and the remains of shirts. Black water just as promised, but at least Yusuf hadn't lied about it clearing up as it turned warm. Speaking of which, he'd probably need to find the doctor if he planned on sleeping at all today. There was no one else around most people apparently preferring to shower straight after dinner. It made sense, instead of waiting for it to get too dark to see. That was why Arthur had grabbed the lantern... Wait. "You aren't serious, right? I can wash myself just fine."

Arthur scoffed, putting out his hand to feel the water and drawing it back after it had been visibly battered. "No, I'm not going to wash you. I'm here to redress your wound once you're done, unless you'd like to try holding the lantern and doing it yourself. And we only have one lantern so you'll have to wait for me after. Go ahead and undress, I'll start looking for a dry towel and something you can use as a wash cloth."

"There's such a thing as the ground for all my lantern holding needs and I can carry my own things, too." Eames sighed for the umpteenth time within the last half hour. He would need help redressing the wound, that was true, but he had thought they could make the short walk to the tent instead of puttering around in the slowly growing darkness. Well, not that it really mattered. He should probably just forget it and get on with the showering. Eames popped the one button that was closed on his shirt, shrugging out of it and leaving it on the ground for lack of a better option. He did the same with the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a disorganized pile and stepping under the stream, ducking his head.

Ohh, that was good. For a planet with little civilization, the shower pressure and temperature was aces. The tension in his head and neck that he'd been unaware of dissipated almost instantly, the rest of his body sighing as the sweat and dust of several days washed away. It was a pity he probably shouldn't stick his bad shoulder - oh he hated that phrasing - under the stream, it was probably too intense and he'd just recently ripped his stitches anyway. So he stayed under the water for a good while, closing his eyes. If someone needed something they could damn well wait.

"I let you do my stitches," Arthur reminded him from the darkness.

Eames sighed, rolling his head and neck languidly once more before bothering to turn his head away from the spray and towards Arthur, who, even in the dim light, was making his best rigid stick impression, looking everywhere but at Eames. Typical. If he was going to put that much effort into not looking, he might as well look and not spend all that energy trying. It wasn't like the sparks of lust were a secret or anything. "I never said anything about not letting you do my bandages. I think I could have made it back to the tent for adequate lighting, though. Thanks."

"Maybe I'm worried about my knee," Arthur quipped.

"Oh, your knee, naturally."

The water was a little bit off taste after all, a lick of his lips proved, but as long as it was clean it didn't much matter. He took the washcloth Arthur offered him, stepping out from under the spray to take the still slightly damp soap, making sure to keep it secure in his hand. Solid soap, what an antique. Good luck finding it in the twilight if he dropped it, too. As soon as the washcloth was sudsy enough, he started with his shoulder, carefully avoiding getting any suds under the bandages. Stitched or not, he wouldn't like to find out if it stung. "Best find a dry towel for yourself, too, before it gets impossible to see. Using just used towels is a pain, I should know." He’d had to use a towel after Arthur back at the hotel on Persephone.

"You will need to remove the bandage and actually wash the wound, and I'll live," Arthur said, eyes now completely averted but with a little wry smile. "You know, I only made you stay the night because I thought you would take off again," he admitted suddenly.

"I know. It wouldn't be a far shot, be it anyone else. But it was a suicide run and I felt a little bit bad for setting you up like that the first time around so leaving wasn't even on my mind." Honestly he didn't know if he could take off the bandages or not. He hadn't exactly seen the extent of the damage to himself, either, not without the branch in the way. Eames sighed, struggling to untangle the knot on his left shoulder with the same hand. He hadn't considered this particular problem. He'd finish soaping up first, he decided, mostly because he'd already started.

The air was cool compared to his warmed skin and he really wished he could soap his feet without potentially falling over. Apparently it wouldn't be his back that was the problem. He leaned back against the pole instead, bringing his feet up to him and watching Arthur in glances.

He washed off quickly, then stepped out from under the spray to try again with the knot in the bandage. It wasn't coming undone. Of course, Arthur was busy practicing his hundred yard stare. "Do you mind? I can't exactly get this loose on my own." This was frustrating. And since Arthur was here and all, he might as well help. At least it was still bright enough to see, everything slowly taking on hues of blue. They'd probably need to bring the lantern closer soon.

"I've got it," Arthur answered, daring to look at Eames again, though still resolutely focused on the upper half. He handed off the clothes and lantern, the transfer a little less than smooth.

"Do you want me to get this side?" Arthur asked, neutrally.

"If you could." Eames steeled himself against the small tremor that managed to creep through his hands and feet, because while Arthur probably thought stepping around him would be less personal, Eames couldn't help but feel vulnerable. Not to mention the transfer of all the clothing that Arthur had been holding had occupied his one good hand and he couldn't even see Arthur, operating on only sound and soft breezes as Arthur moved, his fingers barely brushing his skin. Most of the sound was obscured by the patter of the showers, as well. It was simply not enough information and this tick was helping absolutely no one, just tensing up his previously greatly relaxed muscles. He cleared his throat. "And if you could not stand directly behind me without making full contact with both hands it would be super. You're making me nervous," he continued, staring down at his feet and the swinging lantern in his hand.

"Are you serious?" Arthur asked, only half-skeptical. "Eames, I'm obviously not interested in killing you," he said, annoyed on the surface, but there was mild hurt threaded through it, "And I need the washcloth." He sighed in a short burst and dropped the bandages before placing his palm fully against Eames' shoulder blade, the other waiting for the washcloth. "I'll do my best, but there might be a few seconds that I can't. Would it help if I talked the whole time?"

"It's not you specifically, it's a habit that’s hard to lose, I know you don't want to kill me-" Eames started, interrupting himself by clearing his throat again, descending into several seconds of guilty silence. There was only so many habits from the army you could forget, and living alone, in a constant state of mild to extreme excitement... Yet after all he'd said about trust and friends, well, he would come out of this a liar now. Not that that was a new thing, but it was the last thing he'd wanted. "But yes, it probably would help. And as long as I know where you are it'll be fine." He handed the washcloth over his shoulder, chiding himself for enjoying Arthur's palm on his shoulder blade. It was hypocritical and he had already dug himself a pretty deep hole. The relaxation was almost instantaneous as well and he could at least stop twitching and breathe a little bit deeper.

"Sorry," he tried instead. He's been saying that a lot these days. It was all he could do to make himself stop fidgeting or attempting to lean in because he was chilly now and Arthur's hands were warm and he would be lying if he said he didn't want him even now. "You're not the only one who can be impossible at times."

"It's fine," Arthur said, closing the subject, "This will sting," he added as he very gently applied the tip of the cloth to the edge of the wound and moved it in small circles, Eames tracking the predictable movement. "I don't have a graduate degree," he admitted, at length, "it is, at times, embarrassing. All of my colleagues and former classmates have degrees, not many people on Ariel have been to war though," he leaned over to rinse the cloth again, still talking since he couldn't keep both hands on Eames, "That was a strange experience, to come back after... everything and find that nothing had changed, just you. I tried to get in touch with friends, once I went back and got my secondary education, but... it was hard to connect so I focused on work. That was worth it," he said the last a little bitter, but kept his movements delicate and precise, his other hand a constant light pressure on Eames’ back.

"Not embarrassing. Education isn't everything in the world." He hissed slightly as the washcloth got nearer to the actual wound, trying not to twitch too violently. It was both relief and pain and he breathed out, closing his eyes. The bandages had been helping after all, keeping everything under a slight pressure, but now all the raw bits of skin complained with every minute movement of his muscles or Arthur's hands. "But I understand what you mean. After I was brought home, I was jittery enough to need to scope out every corner, sleep with one eye open and god forbid something popped in my vicinity. I think bacon was outlawed for a good month in my house. You were lucky to find something you could do. I needed to always have some sort of excitement going on, and well... As pessimistic a forecast as it is, if my mother hadn't gone when she did, I would be dead by now." Eames shivered, wondering if he was trying to make up for his previous slip up by being honest.

Arthur paused, then resumed cleaning the last of the wound. "What do you mean?" he asked, then there was a short cough as Arthur cleared his throat. "I should do the front, too."

"If you could," Eames answered. It would be quicker and he would like to get dressed at some point before he froze. Although he was slowly drying, the air starting to lose its coolness, the droplets running down from his hair and the washcloth were starting to contrast to the rest of him. "It would be easier and I'm already holding the lantern.

"What I mean is that it knocked me out of my reckless stupor. There's nothing quite like sending someone off into the next world knowing their son was mixed up with some very wrong crowds. Not that it put me on the straight and narrow, obviously, but I started to appreciate life a little bit more, mine and that of others. Took more calculated risks instead of rushing headlong into things." He shrugged again, keeping his voice light. There was no way he was ever going into detail about those dark years. But Arthur had come to stand in front of him now.

"Just drop the clothes, I'd prefer you wear pants for this."

Eames furrowed his eyebrows. "Why so shy all of a sudden, Arthur?" he teased, easily turning his mood into amusement. "I don't bite." A grin. He'd acquiesce, of course, already letting the pile in his hand fall to the floor, carefully as to not drop the lantern with it. "Not unless you want me to."

"Forgive me," Arthur said, distinctly unimpressed, "I assumed you'd gotten cold." He knelt down to fetch the boxers. "How do you want to do this?"

"Please, that's hardly possible with your hands all over me," Eames rolled his eyes. "And by myself, thank you. There are things I really do need help with and there are things only children need done for them." He stole the pants out of Arthur's hands. "Now I understand that I am very irresistible but you'll need to come up with a better excuse than that. It's my shoulder that hurts, not my leg."

"You told me to and I'd rather not wait around all night as you fumble your way into your boxers with one hand in the dark. I'm tired." Arthur said, but he held out his hand for the lantern so that Eames could make his attempt. "And don't forget, you still have pants to put on," Arthur reminded him, using his free hand to hold up the pair of trousers.

Eames considered making another quip - there were a good many about Arthur on his knees that came to mind - but decided against it. It was better to take Arthur up on the challenge anyway, and he handed the lantern off, taking half a step back. "I know I did, that doesn't change the facts. And that's exactly what I'm doing right now, putting pants on," now he was being deliberately annoying about meaning.

It wasn't that hard to accomplish, one foot, then the other and he dragged the boxers up his legs, adjusting the elastic with both hands as soon as it was in the limited range of movement of his right hand. "But fuck trousers, darling, I am a disabled man, I can walk through a sleeping town of refugees in just pants if I want to, and who sleeps in trousers anyway? Except you and your silky whatever nots. And, if you haven't noticed, the nights aren't exactly cold, so the use of pajamas quickly falls to zero. I might put them on later, when I can sit, to see Yusuf about the sleep drugs, but I'd rather you pass me the towel first." Of course, that would require a little bit of a detour, first to the tent, then to Yusuf's but there was no way he was going to let Arthur dress him like a babe while he still had two good legs and working hands.

"Fine," Arthur said, traded the pants for the towel and rose to stand. "Mind elaborating on the worse crowds?"

"Yes, actually, as it's a time of my life I want to revisit even less than the army days. Suffice to say I let things happen that shouldn't have happened at all. Another reason why I work alone, and not as a grunt for some mob boss. Those guys are crazy and it's best to stay away from them. I almost ended up minding Niska's flying fortress if that tells you anything and if it does, that should be enough." It was hard to avoid the man within the Georgia system, but he had ran as soon as he caught that particular scent. An invitation to Ezra was not a good thing, not within the underworld. So much for not elaborating.

Arthur plucked the washcloth from his forearm and held the lantern up to see the injury. Eames threw the towel over his head, drying off his hair as best as possible with one hand. Arthur seemed to have lucked out and there wasn't a lot that was still wet, the towel remaining mostly dry. He stifled a yawn, watching Arthur watch his shoulder, one that turned into an undignified yelp as he involuntarily twitched as soon as Arthur applied the washcloth. "耶穌, Arthur, the shower is still on, waiting for you now, you could have refreshed that." It was cold and it still stung and he had every right to complain about it. He sighed now, rubbing the towel behind his ears and the back of his neck. It was completely dark now and the stars were clear up above, beautiful as always. In case Yusuf wasn't around and if he could escape Arthur, something that was doubtful at best, he probably could just sit outside and watch the 'Verse move all night. He might even put on his trousers for it. All he needed was something to lean against.

"You sure you won't need help pulling up your pants?" Arthur asked harshly and started in again with the warmer rag after running it under the water again, his touch as gentle as his words sharp. He rubbed in small circles, pausing a second time rinse the cloth and then finishing as quickly as he could.

"Yes, I am really sure I can pull up my own trousers, darling, really, really, cross my heart and hope to die." Eames deflated a little bit, staying at still as possible for the duration. Then he was being handed bandages. Ah, he must have pissed off Arthur more than he'd meant to. The wound was starting to edge towards the unbearable, having spent so much time without any support from the bandages and what was Arthur expecting him to do, apologize? He ran through the no doubt heated conversation in his head, looking to the side. A sigh and he caved. "There are some things that I do need you to help me with, Arthur. And I really can't wrap those properly myself. I'll, I don't know, scrub your back for you in exchange." He pouted a little bit, still not touching the bandages.

Arthur made a quiet strangled noise of frustration, "I'll take a recess from your lewd and unwanted comments," he said.

"Alright, whoah-" Eames froze, raising his arm defensively as Arthur all but attacked him with the bandages, staying as still as possible while Arthur wound them tightly around his shoulder but without cutting off circulation then turned away to get undressed. "Do you want me to hold the lantern, or would you prefer to shower in the dark?"

"Just hold it up and keep your back to me," Arthur instructed as he finished the last button of his shirt and shrugged out of it.

"Yessir," Eames sighed, shouldering the lantern and turning away, dutifully staring out into the darkness. He wasn't going to comment on how Arthur hadn't exactly granted him that sort of privacy, but he hadn't minded so he left the topic well alone.

"Should I keep talking, or will you have to face me?"

"I'm not that paranoid. If I was I wouldn't be able to handle crowds. Just when you're right behind me, for a prolonged time." He stepped a little to the side, aligning himself with the spigot instead of Arthur.

"This from the man that grabbed and dragged me in the middle of the night."

"I admit to not having the most brilliant ideas when I'm exhausted, does that make me a terrible person?" Eames rolled his eyes. "It works for me and I had to stop you twitching in some manner. My mistake." He dropped the fact that Arthur had ended up curled around him anyway.

"You're lucky, the last girl that tried ended up with a broken nose and stitches."

"Oh, so you weren't just twitchy because of me? You're just always twitchy? I'm flattered. I think. I also find that hard to believe, given last night."

As soon as the water shut off, Eames switched the lantern to his right hand, picking up the towel hanging in the crook of his right elbow in his left, handing it off as soon as Arthur was done, almost starting to turn around before realizing it was probably too early.

Eames almost dropped the lantern as he heard Arthur stumble, turning around and marching over without being prompted to. Arthur was wearing his trousers, mostly, so there should be no complaining.

He swallowed the 'now who had trouble putting on pants' comment already at the tip of his tongue and worked on stopping himself from reaching out. "Are you alright? You've really got to take care of it, if it's this bad." He flexed his fingers by his side, keeping them there. "If you're going to push me into bed rest, I'm going to have to insist you work on your knee and I still have the one good shoulder to sling you over." He wasn't joking this time around.

"I'm fine, and I'm well aware, Eames," Arthur bit out, finishing putting on his trousers. "And I never said I wouldn't. Do you think I want this?" he continued while casting about for the shirt he'd brought. He leaned down and picked it up, some blue and brown striped shirt that would dwarf him, but then, nearly all of Eames's shirts would. "Let's go," he said tersely, gathering up the clothes he'd brought for Eames.

"You never said you would, either." Eames sighed and straightened, wondering what it was he had done so wrong now. It wasn't easy to tailor himself to Arthur's whims even for a short while, not to touch or tease even though he wanted to, more than anything. If he knew a sure fire way to make Arthur laugh, even making a giant fool of himself, he would do that. But he didn't have an inkling so instead grabbed his boots, handing them to his right hand. Letting everything go Arthur's way was out of the question as well because Arthur would take it all for a given. He sighed and lead the way.

The walk back was quick and uneventful, no one bothering to come out after dark as Eames had thought. There wasn't much to do when it was light and hardly was there any danger that wouldn't announce itself with the screech of engines. The tent was darker still as Eames ducked under the flap, hanging the lantern under the ceiling to cast some light, waiting for Arthur to come through with the bundle of clothes. "I'll go see Yusuf about the drugs now and I can ask him about an extra cot for you if you want it." If whatever Yusuf was concocting wasn't done, well... A night of stargazing would do him no harm.

"I do," Arthur said plainly and stepped around to busy himself with organizing.

A long suffering sigh and Eames drew out the trousers by himself, using the fact that Arthur was distracted with organizing books on the other side. It was odd that he'd thought to bring books at all but who they were for was questionable and Eames tried not to feel possessive of them. He sat down, working his trousers up his legs until they were high enough so he could stand and close the fly. Shoving his feet in his boots, he ducked out, resisting the urge to say where he was going again just to break their silence.

Arthur was working on his knee with a set expression when Eames got back, something which was a little bit heartening. Yusuf had said no on both counts and then insisted on checking him for the remainder of his concussion instead of just letting him go. "No luck on either, unfortunately, there are bed frames but not mattresses," Eames said, sitting down on the bed to start toeing off his boots. "Is your knee any better now?"

"A bit," Arthur said, then asked through gritted teeth, through some apparent pain, "you going to be able to sleep?"

"I don't know, you going to insist on camping on the floor?" Eames let his head fall on the bed, watching Arthur. "It should go as swimmingly as last night." It didn't mean he wouldn't have dreams or nightmares for that matter, but at least he shouldn't struggle. He briefly considered asking Arthur if he needed any help but reconsidered, contenting himself to reclining and just watching.

"Is that your way of asking to cuddle?" Arthur shot back.

"Maybe it is." Eames smiled, warm, already in a better mood for laying down.

"I brought those books for a reason," Arthur snapped again after a moment, apparently annoyed by Eames watching him.

"It's questionable lighting for reading, I'm too tired to even try and you're calming to watch. I could try sleeping but then I'd miss you getting into bed and that is my most favorite, awkward part of the night. I would offer you a massage but I don't think that would end well for me, either." He raised his hand up in the air as far as it would go in a shrug meaning what else was he supposed to do?

"I'll grab you a children's book that's closer to your reading comprehension next time," Arthur quipped.

"As long as it has pictures," Eames agreed, scooting over to the side to pull at the blanket. He had been too exhausted to bother with it the first time and while he didn't remember being particularly cold, he had been preoccupied with rather more urgent matters at the time. And he wasn't planning on sleeping in trousers if he could help it. He relieved himself of the offending article, already stifling a yawn.

"Whenever you're ready," he stated and yawned again, tossing the blanket over his shoulders, making sure there was more in front of him than behind. Thankfully it seemed a bit wide for the narrowness of the bed - probably scavenged from some other set and there should be enough for the both of them, now that it wasn't tucked in. If Arthur didn't want any part of blankets or warmth he could just suit himself.

Arthur finally rose from the floor and turned off the lantern before lowering himself onto the bed and tugging the blanket over himself. Of course, as soon as Arthur laid down he became equally restless, the little twitches and shifts magnified not only by the mattress but by the pull of the blanket. Why, oh, why did the both of them have sleeping problems?

"I can't, I'll take the chair," Arthur declared, already in the process of launching himself out of bed, judging by the magnitude of movement in the mattress.

"No, you aren't taking the chair. You're keeping your distance again," Eames noticed, keeping his voice low and speaking with his eyes closed. "This was exactly what happened last time. And given that you haven't slept right in at least two days, we're going to need to find some sort of solution." He kept his hands to himself at least, it was a fifty percent chance touch would only make Arthur jumpier. "Now the only differences I can tell you from my own observations is that you either need to hate and mistrust me a little more, or you can be the big spoon, which will require a little bit of maneuvering around, since I only have the one shoulder. But what I'm not doing is kicking you out, darling, because you need your sleep and-" a yawn "-so do I."

Arthur paused halfway through pushing himself up with his elbow, then let himself fall back down. He shifted towards Eames in small increments until there was hardly any space between them, but he didn't completely close the distance probably for fear of accidentally jostling Eames' shoulder. Eames would like to believe anyway.

"I don't hate you," Arthur said, tiredly honest then yawned.

"I know, or I hope so, ardently. But you did back in the hotel room on Persephone, didn't you? Just trying to cover all my bases." Another yawn and he couldn't resist resting his right forearm on Arthur's middle again, closing the little bit of distance between them with a scoot. "But in all reality, you need to sleep, darling." He yawned against Arthur's neck. "Just tell me if I need to talk you to sleep again, if that helps you at all. I will happily oblige though it might very soon turn incomprehensible."

Arthur gave a last little shift, slotting himself more firmly in place as the mattress sank further to accommodate both of them. He was warm and the weight of him was as reassuring as the steady heartbeat. "I didn't," Arthur admitted. "I think I only hated you that morning after, back on Ariel, but I hated everyone that day. Did you hate me?" he asked in the middle of a yawn, words garbled slightly.

"I'm sorry about that. But I didn't. I actually kind of liked you because you almost got me. Which is probably the worst excuse but alas." Eames closed his eyes fully now, certain that Arthur wasn't about to leap out of bed for some reason or another. Arthur was more actually relaxed than ever, oddly enough, so something must be right. But he wasn't in enough coherence to actually ask what he’d done right because it was warm and comfortable and clean and Arthur smelled amazing and Eames couldn't be forced from his spot if the 'Verse caught fire.

"'s fine. Hangover was m'fault," Arthur said sleepily, chin tucked slightly, "Where'd you go?"

Eames smiled, recalling their little unsaid drinking game, fuzzily. "Oh yes it was, 'm not even going to deny that. Too much drinking. But I went out to Santo and St. Albans... All over the place really, s'what you gotta do when you don't work for someone bigger." Vaguely he wondered if Arthur had been one of those kids who talked a lot as soon as the lights went out during a sleepover. He shifted anyway, pressing his forehead to the back of Arthur's neck, barely containing a yawn. But that seemed the end of that.

"'Ve I talked you to sleep already?" he whispered. It was hard to say and Eames nestled in just a little bit closer, hoping Arthur was actually asleep because he was dropping off rapidly. A beat and he was asleep with a final breath out, hand placed firmly on Arthur's waist, making sure he wasn't going anywhere.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm afraid this isn't much of a social visit," Eames started, threading his thumbs through his belt loops, where his bracers ought to be and eyeing Morena a tad nervously. She just cocked her head and waited for him to continue, her eyes drifting back to Arthur when he didn't say anything immediately. She looked quite at home in her tastefully decorated house, sitting on a decorative pillow on the chair she'd drawn out from a table. If it weren't for the fact that the table was propped up by a book, Eames would have had his doubts about Morena ever crash landing anywhere.

"We were wondering if we could borrow your pad in order to try and speed up the reparations on the ship?" At least she wasn't trying anything, sitting placidly and ogling Arthur more than anything. "Yusuf needs his on a daily basis and Ariadne said you have a functional one we could potentially borrow?" And this time Eames was wearing his own shirt this time and not a borrowed one from Yusuf. Arthur wasn't better off however, still in Eames' oversized one.

"Eames," she tutted, "surely I don't make you so uncomfortable that you can't spare a moment for more than pleasantries, especially if you're asking for favors." She turned to Arthur, "I hardly know either of you, you'll forgive me if I'm not so willing to part with my belongings."

"No," Eames said because he would be damned before he admit to being uncomfortable, "but we only have a limited amount of daylight and were told to hurry." He capitulated and sat down on the bed, trying not to upset any of the likely underlying order. Arthur remained standing, and while Morena didn't seem surprised, her expression was contemplative nonetheless. "And I understand you wouldn't want to simply give away good resources, but it's more of a long term investment that you would undoubtedly get back whether we succeed in fixing our ship or not."

"Could we negotiate something?" Arthur asked.

"Small planet, large needs as it is and it might be in the scope of our abilities to procure or do something you would need? Barring our various physical disabilities of course."

Morena turned to Eames, "That's a considerable amount of good faith on my part, and would you leave me here if I refused you? I've been here for many years, my desire to leave is hardly a pressing one." There was no concern or curiosity in her voice, nor in her posture. Eames could tell there was no doubt in her mind that she would be rescued along with everyone else. He wasn't interested in playing a guessing game and offering at random, so he'd given her the carte blanche. Yet she still just had to dance around it.

"Our need for a pad is hardly pressing, either, so whether you refused us use of yours or didn't and given the repairs succeeded, anyone who wanted off was welcome. I'm certain that something along the lines of a large transport ship pick up could be arranged for anyone who was willing to leave. I am not above press-ganging people into coming," he resisted looking at Arthur, "but I would not willingly leave someone behind who wanted to go. What does depend on your cooperation is the speed at which we can get our jobs done."

"I can always use the services of two strapping young men. Tonight's dishes for a day's use, tomorrow. We can discuss the next task then," Morena responded finally.

"I can do that," Arthur nodded, as if taking the whole burden on himself. Ass.

There was only a certain amount of condescension Eames could take laying down and he really wished he could cross his arms, continuing as if Arthur hadn't spoken. "我的天阿 save me from dish duty, however will I survive," he concluded flatly then heaved a sigh and stood, more irritated than uncomfortable now. ‘Strapping young men', please. "I hope that was enough pleasantries? We do actually have work to do."

Morena's smile changed to more knowing than usual. He'd called her out and she was amused by it. Fantastic. "For now," she said, rising up and guiding them back through the decorated room and out the low door.

"I'll deliver the pad after dinner. It was lovely to meet you Arthur: we will have to have a proper chat sometime." She took his hand and patted it fondly. "Perhaps without Eames, since the dear is so very busy." Arthur let his hand remain in hers for a polite amount of time and then extricated it. Eames huffed.

"Yes, very busy, terribly so, so sorry we can't stay longer," Eames tipped his imaginary hat, regretting his inability to make a less verbal fuss. Apparently lifting things wouldn't be his most annoying issue. He watched Morena give him a self-satisfied smile before closing the door and shoved his hands in his pockets. A beat and he let his expression darken, turning away and starting to walk towards their appointed rendezvous spot.

"If she wanted to raise my hackles up, she's done the best job," he grumbled when he was sure they were out of earshot. "I would think twice before agreeing to anything and everything. One step too far and we'll be her personal lackeys," he huffed. It didn't exactly sound life threatening, but it sure would be demeaning. "How much do I want to bet she lives by sheer virtue of having things other people needs and cashing those in for favors?" Between that and being one of the longest residents of the stupid rock as well as the oldest, she was _de facto_ mayor of the little town. It could be worse, of course, if she had strong stances on, say, tattoos but it didn't make him any happier.

"It's only dishes, and I want to test a theory about the signal. I'd rather do it on a pad that I can backup and reset than your ship," Arthur said.

"It starts with dishes and then you're hovering over her, feeding her grapes and chasing away flies." Eames expelled a sharp breath, willfully straightening out his shoulders. It was over and done with, there was no use being on edge the whole day because of this. They were nearing the transport anyway.

"I packed a lunch, since Arthur doesn't seem to believe in proper nutrition," Ariadne called to them, voice raised over the idling engine of the transport.

Eames climbed in after Arthur with a little bit of effort, grimacing slightly as he wound up moving his right shoulder a little. It didn't hurt as bad as it had before and he hadn't torn anything, so it was an improvement. Not as well as he'd like, but well enough.

"That he doesn't, doll, thank you for being so considerate." Eames ducked his head between their shoulders from the back seat, used to the front view from any vehicle. "And riddle me this, would you: is Morena actually secretly the one with most of the cards in her hands in this village? I know most people are generally autonomous like say you and Yusuf, but I get the feeling she can veto a good deal of things should she put her mind to it. At least she acts like it. And because unless she had a habit of keeping all her things in fire proof storage, there's no way all of that fancy garbage survived a crash. So she must have gotten it from somewhere, for instance trading with the other villages, but for what?"

"I don't know, people just seem to like her, so I guess if she didn't like something people would agree with her? She gives good advice, and, like, grief counseling," Ariadne said thoughtfully before stepping on the accelerator and focusing on the road. "People might have just given the stuff to her in thanks. I know Han gave her a set of perfumes for helping Theo. Did she say or do something?"

"Oh, emotional manipulation, I see how it is. She gives me the creeps. That's all. I think she's come to some sort of conclusion and is trying to get it out of me without asking straight. Not to mention see how far I'll bend to her whims. I just don't like it. I'll bend to your whims if I like you, not if you manipulate me into doing so." Eames would be glad to be proven wrong, but for now he would just stay as far away from Morena as possible.

"I don't think so, I think she wants to help people, but I mean, she has needs too," Ariadne defended.

"Have fun with your one on one, too, that's sure to be a blast," Eames nudged his head against Arthur's shoulder briefly to get his attention, lacking any other options. "We'll need to get back a bit early to do the dishes, too." It was true that Arthur was really the one who needed the pad, but it would benefit Eames as well and he wasn't going to leave Arthur running all of Morena's errands by herself.

"I'd hoped you'd help me get out of it. And yes," Arthur turned to Ariadne before she asked, "I agreed to do the dishes in exchange for temporary use of her pad."

"How would I ever get you out of it if I can't get out of it myself?" Eames commented, rolling his eyes. Arthur didn't respond. He wasn't sure how many dishes the town used but to consider it a favor it had to be a lot. And there was the issue of not really being able to use his shoulder... He made himself forget about the whole thing for the time being.

Soon they drove nearer to the dense crop of trees he remembered seeing from atmo as Ariadne explained the dish washing rotation the village had going. They weren't exactly difficult to spot from the otherwise mostly empty field of black. He couldn't say that he had any particularly cheery memories in relation to the eerie plants, the moments of consciousness after the crash playing out unwillingly in his head. It was hard to ignore the fresh memories and he tried his best to look as bored and nonchalant as possible, looking out for Rook. He hoped that Arthur and Ariadne's forecast was true. He really did.

Rook was a pitiable sight, broken windshield and positively littered in black branches. So maybe he had been running on a little bit of bravado when he'd told Arthur that it was fine, and these things happened. But now, the sadness combined with his stomach in knots from memories beating like waves against the backs of his eyes was almost overwhelming. Maybe he shouldn't have come after all. Or maybe he should just pull himself together and start being a big girl about it all. He kept up his charade of boredom as Ariadne cut the engine, patiently ignoring Arthur hovering within reach and sliding carefully out onto solid ground.

"Here we are..." he murmured, brushing himself off, looking up at the damaged ship. Ariadne had come in along the nose through the broken windshield. That looked pretty steep. The girl must have great balance and stellar non skid boots. "Back at the scene of the crime." He followed Ariadne, who was heading for the door but instead opted to go around, dragging his fingertips across the metal. He could already see the several places where the gaping holes let in sunlight and, of course, branches. If he really wanted to see everything he should probably go inside, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for that.

"We'll fix it," Arthur said behind him, barely startling him. "You saved the engine," he added, rapping his knuckles gently on the metal. "This is just cosmetic."

"I'm certain we will." Eames curled his fingers against the hull, risking a glance at Arthur who was still there and, while not particularly close at hand, that was all that really mattered. It was hard to disguise the full range of his distress and Eames bit at the inside of his lip, trying to look thoughtful instead of shaken. There was no logical reason for this and he looked down at the ground for several seconds, cursing himself inwardly, keeping his hand on the ship for warmth and support. That small and wounded part of him was still scared of what would happen if Arthur went and turned himself around again. It was a new and terribly uncomfortable feeling. No ship and no Arthur seemed a crueler world than he'd thought. It wasn't as if he could help his attachment, although he should probably work on remedying it as best he could. So he listened to Arthur's voice instead, detailing what needed to be fixed. After all, it did sound quite optimistic.

"She was never pretty to begin with," he flattened his palm against the hull, looking up. Not pretty but tried and true. "Can I just ask you one thing?" It was better to do it now, without Ari hanging around their heels. "How likely is it that you're going to run away again?" Cut himself off emotionally, that was how Arthur put it. "Do be honest, darling, and tell me if I should be preparing myself for another fall, asking you to come with me? We can always fix a ship, but if you do something like that again I doubt I could trust you after." He tried for joking again but it came out sounding more sad than anything.

Frankly, he didn't remember the last time he had managed to get attached so thoroughly. They already had plans to live a life of crime together and he was in all honesty looking forward to it. He didn't need any convincing or cajoling, hell, he would have suggested it himself. And he had in a sense. "I know I annoy you but I mean well, mostly. And I'd very much like to be your friend, which includes trusting you with my clearly raw and weepy emotional state." There was the joking tone, finally, he was able to squeeze it out. This was dumb and he should stop with the sentiment, but how many times had he thought that specific thought in Arthur's presence now? He'd lost count.

"Do we need to be friends?" Arthur asked instead of an answer, immediately stiff and tense. "I've heard how you treat friends with PTSD."

"If you mean dumping him somewhere safe before the cops searched my ship for the one pictured on the ID he dropped and then putting in some favors and deleting the references in the system so he could have a fresh start then you've heard right. You judge harshly by a story I only half told you. Which I suppose is my fault as well. And if I really think of it, I don't recall thinking of him as a friend." Eames had been right to ask, then, it was better to just rip out the shred of affection, the quicker the better so it didn't take root. It would be less painful in the end. He just had to figure out how to do it.

He turned away, walking a couple of steps further, dragging his fingers along the metal again. "That isn't to say you aren't welcome to join me on the grand adventure that is thieving if you so desire. And whenever you get bored of it, you would still be free to leave, as you wish." A pause and he looked up at the sky, then down at his fingers, rubbing the little granules of dust from the hull between them. "As you wish."

"Everything okay?" Ariadne interjected and Eames didn't have to turn to hear Arthur rush off, rocks scrambling from under his feet.

He turned, face attentive as if Ariadne had startled him out of a reverie. "Oh, yes, peachy, just talking about repairs." He blew the dust off his fingers. "But it'll be easier to see everything from the inside, I bet."

He smiled, knowing it looked a little bit strained. There wasn't much of a choice but to buck up, they weren't going to get anything done if Eames didn't pull himself together. But at least he had a definitive answer now. No was no. There was little to be done about it.

"Let's see how much damage I caused." Eames ducked into the hold, tapping the inside wall proprietarily. Everything was in disarray, of course, this was not surprising. The gravity generator was off and the whole ship was tilted forward, all of the boxes pressed up against the front. She'd buried her nose far in the ground. "I'll go check what she's been trying to tell me on the dashboard," he told no one in particular but probably Ariadne. That was as good a place to be rid of affection as anywhere. He climbed the ladder, humming.

And here he was. Eames frowned, stopping at the entrance to the cockpit. If he said it didn't look ominous he would be, of course, lying. Light filtered slightly through the hole in the seat and he couldn't resist walking around, ducking to inspect it closer. The branch hadn't only gone through the first couple of layers of padding, but through the support in the back as well. Someone must have pulled the piece of the branch out, perhaps when they were moving him. Ah, there was the neatly sawed off piece. He picked it up, marveling at the dried blood that was lighter in color than the wood itself.

Whatever he thought this might convince him of, it wasn't working. Instead, several seconds of Arthur's hands on his face filled his vision, telling him to stay calm, that it would be alright, barely visible against the light coming from the window yet he could still focus on the color of his eyes.

Brown.

He'd trusted him with everything in that one moment, when he hadn't even known his story a fraction as well as he did now. If he thought of it now, it made all the sense in the world for Arthur to pull away as he had and Eames shouldn't be touching it with a ten foot pole. The whole thing was strange, unfair and painful. There was no way he would be able to get rid of the feeling that was keen on possessing him. This sort of need for Arthur to open up and trust him and rely on him. God forbid he went and fell in love. That would help no one, probably screw with Arthur's head and likely be the most ill-founded thing this side of the ‘Verse. No, he was digging his heels in now, before it ended in tragedy. Again. He liked Arthur well enough and he would do what he could to help because he couldn't otherwise. But that was all. It didn't make him any happier, but it was a decision at least.

"You alright?" another voice interrupted.

Eames looked up, half smiling as he saw Ariadne leaning on the doorjamb, waiting on him. "I can see why you were surprised anyone survived. Gruesome stuff." He tossed the little piece of branch back to the floor. The generator should still be working, it had opened the doors well enough, and he punched in the proper set of keys to bring it up. "We seem to have our work cut out for us." There wasn't a whole lot of information on the console. The thruster was out and there was a hull breach, nothing specific. Everything else was displayed as in working order. He'd have to double check, anyway. Shutting it down, he cleared a patch of floor with his foot, unlatching the door to the engine.

"I'm glad that you did," Ariadne said behind him after a pause and climbed down the ladder after him.

"I'm glad I did, too," Eames looked up. "Although it probably wouldn't hurt so much when I try to move."

"Arthur doesn't think you want to see him."

"Did he say that?" It gave him a little bit of pause before he quirked the corner of his lip. "I suppose we'd better leave him to that thought, then." Ariadne was clearly readying herself to try and make it all rainbows between them. He'd better stop her while she was ahead.

"I asked him if he'd be my friend. He said no. I can't argue with that." He ducked down into the engine room, turning on the lights after he was able to let go of the ladder. It was good to note that he could put a little bit of weight on his shoulder, enough to keep himself stable as he climbed down at least, with minimal pain. Not much here was out of place, everything attached dutifully to it's rightful spot. Perhaps Arthur was right and the engine hadn't suffered any damages. He spun it slowly, looking through the details. A couple of wiring cords had sparked under the pressure, but that could be fixed with material he had on the ship. It actually didn't look half bad.

"Did he really say that? He's..." Ariadne paused and Eames looked at her to find her distracted by the engine. "That's a good sign, spinning is good," she said, smiling. "We could be out of here, I could go home." It was must have been the most complete engine she'd seen in a while. Eames could understand her excitement.

"That we could." Eames smiled for real this time, Ariadne's excitement catching. "If we get a couple of more hands on this, and maybe one good idea about the defragmentor, maybe even within two weeks. It's a pity I won't even be able to get my stitches out until sometime next week, I'm so useless like this." At least he was ambidextrous, a perk of the job, or else even eating would be a problem. He would love to fix Rook up himself, but there was little he could do without needing both arms. "I guess it makes sense to clean her out first, no one wants to work in shattered glass and bits of creepy-tree. I would say we don't need to fix every little thing, like those clear dents right there, but it's probably better to so there's less friction in atmo." As far as he remembered, the wiring ripped by the impact were for life support and lighting up in the rooms, which, while not the best, was better than a little bit to the left where it could have smashed straight into the engine itself. "Ah, here's a little problem," he disconnected one of the pieces from the engine, all bent out of shape. "I think I have a spare up above, but let's see if I can find any more..."

"Two weeks isn't bad when you compare it to two years," Ariadne said, watching him work. "She'll be flying in no time."

"I suppose it isn't as bad. Arthur was right to assume I'd be devastated should she never fly again. Doesn't feel like home when she's not purring. Well, that's five things that need replacing and some fried and ripped wires. Not half bad for a crash landing," Eames said and pocketed the pieces for reference, looking up at the sound of footsteps above them. Must be Arthur. Eames pressed his palm to the wall again, walking over to the first dent and putting a foot on it. A little bit of weight and there we go - the metal straightened out with a loud pop. "That's what I'm talking about. We'll probably need to seal it up from the outside, but I think I might cry over how resilient she is. If I hadn't known better, and there weren't holes in the top, I'd assume the thruster failed right before landing, not way before entering atmo." He dusted his hands off. "We should get to looking for these parts, I doubt anything will be easy to find in the storage room."

"Arthur had some wiring pulled out when we came back to collect the food, I'll get them," Ariadne said. Then: "He's an idiot. There's definitely something between you two. What did he say exactly?" she asked as she began climbing the ladder.

"One way only," Eames said tersely, wishing to forget about it. "I'll come with you anyway, it's easier with two people and we need to find all of these other parts as well. And some tools to repair the wiring." He could just imagine exactly what sort of state his storage room was in. Of course, Arthur might be busying himself into organizing all of it, but Eames would take that risk. "And a broom to sweep out the control room later, if I get tired of messing around with wires with only one hand." It was easier climbing up than climbing down, he didn't need to use his hands as much for support.

"Do you honestly believe that Arthur doesn't care about you? You're an idiot, too," Ariadne pressed, stepping off the final rung and out of the way while wiping the sweat off her forehead with a sleeve. It was like she wanted Arthur to overhear their conversation or something.

"I don't know what to think. For all he's saying he certainly doesn't. I had to hear about the branch thing from Yusuf, of all people. In any case, it's not unlikely we're driving back with the other mattress in tow." Eames took a seat on the floor, wiping his brow before even attempting to stand. It was actually very hot, hotter than he had anticipated. They had crashed in the early morning and he'd spent the rest of the day in shade. Now it was bearing closer to afternoon, the sun streaming through the windows and holes, heating up the metal.

"What's this?" Ariadne asked, holding something out for Eames to see once he had made it all the way up. It was the music box, a spiderweb of cracks running through the opalescent inset but otherwise unharmed.

"Ah," he took the box in his hands, rotating it. The cracks didn't seem too deep and he ran a finger across them. "The thing Arthur was trying to fence that supposedly had a tracker in it, which it doesn't, by the way. He gave it to me after, since he has no use for it and it doesn't exactly play." He contemplated it for a couple of seconds. "D'you think Morena would leave us alone if I gave it to her? In exchange for use of her pad, I guess." Eames put it back down, on his bed this time, heading out. It was mostly a rhetorical question and Ariadne shrugged. "I guess we'll see. Let's go look for things."

Of course, Arthur was trying to organize in the storage room and Eames almost walked right back out. Instead he took the pieces he needed out of his pocket. "Seen any of these lying around?" he waved the first bit up in the air, making sure to use a light, neutral tone. There was a pile of wiring and plugs near the door, as Ariadne had said, but there was also the matter of tools and casing.

"I saw those before the crash, but I haven't come across them yet," Arthur said also carefully neutral.

"It's too hot. I left the water behind, I have to grab some," Ariadne announced and swiftly exited. Jerk. As soon as she left Arthur all but seized up, tensing like Eames was going to yell or hit him.

"Mm, well, we'll need to turn the units around to get at them, so if you could just help me out? I'm not supposed to do any heavy lifting, you see." He looked away, walking to the front. He should probably say something not neutral, Ariadne had left for a reason after all, and in a not very subtle way. A sigh and he wondered when he'd lost the ability to say something in every situation imaginable.

"Ariadne says we're both idiots," he stated, looking at the drawers and falling back on hiding behind someone else. "I can neither confirm nor deny her opinion." It was easy to find holds on the unit and he tugged at it a little. No, too heavy to do by himself but Arthur had already stepped in to help. "Leaning towards a yes though."

"I can't promise I won't... withdraw, any more than you can promise you won't be hurt. I _hate_ that you keep dragging it up as though I did something wrong. I couldn't help it, Eames. Should I cry next time, because I'm not sure how that would have helped," Arthur said, much of the previous ferocity absent with the effort of moving the unit.

"I never said you did anything wrong. And please don't cry, I really don't like it when you do that, not to mention I would hope there will be no next time. It would just be nice if you talked to me about it, darling. So I could understand why you'd even want to pull away. I know I don't." Eames leaned against the unit as soon as they managed to turn it over. Maybe this was still a little bit heavy for him. Still, it was easier to do this together, one person turning as the other stabilized.He wasn't making Arthur do it all himself, in any case. It was putting a bit of a damper on the conversation though. Resting his forehead against it, he sighed, looking at Arthur. "For one I don't understand why you still don't trust me. Now that you don't have any reason to see me as the enemy, I mean. Hot and cold, negative and positive, you confuse me, Arthur, and I try to pretend it doesn't but that doesn't always work either. So if we could, I mean, maybe this talking thing is worth a try. I hear it helps."

Arthur looked away, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "And I don't understand why you _don't_. And do _you_ trust _me_? I couldn't even stand behind you."

"Oh, would you drop that, it's not like you let everyone touch your knee either-" Eames set his jaw, falling quiet as footsteps came up the ladder, sound clear as day. Ariadne was coming back. Yet right now he was just humming with energy and all he wanted to do was kiss Arthur's stupid mouth that said stupid, contrary words because he was clinging on to the stupidest things he could think of and this had nothing to do with anything and wouldn't prove anything either but he wanted it just as well. It was the heat talking and the way Arthur was out of breath and just two steps away, it had to be, because he could find little more reason for it. He huffed instead and stepped away, rolling his neck and turning around to take off his shirt, dabbing his forehead with it.

"Diiiid I miss anything?" Ariadne asked from the doorway, eyebrows raised and he scowled, grabbing a water bottle from her hands regardless.

"This will take more effort than I thought, the units are all piled onto each other so we can't even empty them before trying to move them."

"Ariadne, lend me a hand with this one, while Eames searches through that one," Arthur ordered after he was done sipping lightly from the water bottle he'd grabbed for himself. It would save Eames from the manual labor and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't actually bring himself to complain.

His shoulder was starting to bother him already and he dutifully ignored it, ignored a good deal of everything, concentrating on looking through the drawers, thoroughly, lest something had fallen back behind the drawer itself. It was a repetitive task and slower going with one hand, but he managed to find one of the pieces in the first one, tossing it in the pile of wiring so he didn't lose it. It was easier not to think, just look through the variety of stuff he'd gathered over the years, searching for something useful. Standing on an incline was not helping his calves, either and for the rest of the units he took to taking the drawers out of their place and putting them down on the floor, searching through them sitting down. By the end of the escapade, he managed to find all of the pieces and tools he needed. "I think it's time to break for lunch, preferably outside of this hellhole. I'm not exactly looking forward to going down to the engine, either."

Ariadne perked up considerably, having given up on even making conversation by then. "Yes. Lunch. Outside, let's go," she spoke quickly and actually started to push Arthur towards the door.

Eames wished for the umpteenth time to be rid of the pain in his shoulder, or his shoulder all together so he wouldn't have to worry about it. He groaned slightly, standing up to follow them. How Ariadne still had that much energy in comparison eluded him completely. He wasn't that old and not the one moving heavy objects. He'd blame it on the fact that he was still recuperating from blood loss. At least the way down would be easier than the way up. He tucked his shirt into his pocket, figuring it couldn't be as hot outside as it was in a small room with three people and picked up his water bottle, heading down. Well, it had been easier going up these specific steps than it was going down, now that they were weirdly tilted sideways. A sigh and he braced his hand on the railing, carefully walking himself down. Maybe they should turn on the gravity, waste some generator fuel but at least be rid of this oddness. It would be easier to move things as well.

He nodded briefly to Arthur, who was waiting for him in the hold, monitoring his progress, pausing at the bottom steps to take a drink from the bottle again. Now that he was on safely on solid ground Arthur considered his duty fulfilled and headed outside. Eames sighed and sat on the step for a little first. They'd barely spent half an hour in the room moving things and he was done with it. What would happen in the engine room rather terrified him. A couple of breaths and he was already better, the hold far breezier.

By the time he actually made his outside, Ariadne had already assembled a picnic complete with blanket and boxed lunches and Arthur was napping, propped up against a nearby tree.

"Should we wake him?" Ariadne asked as she passed Eames his box.

"Probably not." Eames deposited himself on the blanket, draping his shirt over his shoulders. "If he's finally falling asleep on his own means he's probably exhausted to the point where he can't be bothered to be twitchy." He yawned too, tucking into the dried fruit and crackers. "All I did was dig through things and I'm exhausted myself." It would probably be nicer to have fruit or ice cream of some kind out here, but their options were obviously limited and he finished his first water bottle, helping the dried food slide down. In any case, with Arthur asleep there was less chance of the whole lunch devolving into strained silence. "I'd take a nap myself, but I'd have even more trouble with sleeping at night than usual."

"He's twitchy?" Ariadne asked around a cracker. For a planet of shipwrecks, the lunch wasn't even bad, just a bit stale. "And will letting him sleep mess up his night? Maybe we should wake him," she said but made no move to do so herself. Arthur remained half-slumped and completely still except for the rise and fall of his chest.

"Taught as a string on his best days. And fifteen minutes won't hurt him none. I've been getting mostly full nights; Arthur, not so much." Eames sighed. "If we all attempt to take a nap, it might evolve into a good hour."

"Did you guys talk at all?" Ariadne asked after another mouthful of water.

He chewed a little bit before squinting at Ariadne, affecting an amused glare. "Aren't you a curious Clarissa. A little bit, in which the limitations of our various unfortunate military careers were blamed for everything because it's the norm. He doesn't like it that I get nervous when he stands directly behind me without touching me." Yet he'd been fine being buck naked and in the dark. He wasn't going to go into that much detail however. "The conversation will probably continue at a later date. God help me."

"Why does that make you nervous?" Ariadne took another bite of her cracker, the crumbs falling into her waiting palm.

"Because when you spend several years in a trench and then the rest of your life stealing people's things, you don't typically expect anyone who's hovering behind you to have good intentions. It's not exactly a conscious thing. And it's definitely not personal. I don't know why everyone seems to take it that way."

"In any case, you both need to talk. I swear, just the other day you were talking about taking Arthur with you in your glorious life of crime. Could you stop being such... _men_ about it. Clearly he likes you, and you like him, yeah, how much more evidence do you need?"

Eames sighed. "Evidence for what?" he asked, suspicious. "We are talking, I just said."

"Evidence that you're, friends, or whatever. I just meant, you had better talk. "

"Just for that I'll drop you off on the other side of the planet and you can walk home."

"Don't weasel out of it. And as long as I've got my feet on Hera I don't care. I will walk until my feet bleed, gods, I miss my parents. I've never been away for this long..."

"I don't weasel out of it-" Now that would be an actual lie. "I'll try," he amended, not sure why he should even be listening to her, besides the fact that she was right. Right and serious about walking all the way home. "I'm kidding, darling. No one's feet will have to suffer if I can help it, although I can't imagine wanting to go home that badly." He was done with his portion of nuts and fruit already, sipping placidly on his water. There was even a breeze starting up and he sighed again. They would cross the Hera bridge when they got to it. After all, there would be plenty of people who wanted to go home, they didn't exactly have to stay long, no matter how rude it might be. "Were you planning to visit your parents on breaks between semesters? That's four days' waste of break each time. Seems rather excessive."

"I dunno," Ariadne started, "I guess it's different when you can't see them. You forget all the annoying things, all the stupid fights. And maybe it's because I'm not a cranky old man like you, even Arthur said he misses his parents sometimes. I guess he won't be visiting them now though, considering there's a warrant out for his arrest." She took a last gulp of water and started rubbing at her shoulders. "C'mon on though, you don't ever want to go home and visit? Check up on them and let them feed you and use their stuff for a few days?"

"I'm not a cranky old man. He told you-" Eames interrupted himself again, quieting. Arthur had told her about his parents, at least a little bit, but not including that they were gone. Well, it wasn't his story to tell, so he wouldn't say anything either. After all, he had only gotten it out of Arthur on accident. It seemed as though he'd told Ariadne the more pleasant details which he found that he dearly wanted to know as well. "Not after my mom died. If you ever want to meet a real cranky old man, though, you can meet my dad. I very much doubt he still even wants me to visit, judging by how we parted ways. Not that he won't take the chance to yell at me should it be offered."

Ariadne's face fell, "She died? How? I mean, if that's okay to ask. And, he's your dad, what could have happened that he wouldn't want to see you?"

"Sickness. It was a long time ago, well, comparatively. It's not a big deal. But some people don't think there's any good in associating with thieves, even if the thieves in question are their own sons. It's perfectly understandable, especially if said sons don't want to quit what they're doing and get a real job like take over the family business or start a nice respectable farm like every other person on that planet." Eames half shrugged. There was only so many times he could be faced with relentless disapproval and still want to go back. It didn't help that he knew his father was looking for him, should he ever register in a port on Hera. Memories were one thing, reality something quite unrelated.

"I guess. So you like it, then? Stealing, I mean, if you'd choose that over everything else. I think it bothers Arthur, that he can't figure out how you stole the medicine.

"It's something to do that doesn't force me to chain myself to an institution and it gives me the adrenaline I need. I try to be fair when I can but it's mostly one giant grey area. There's only so much work and only so much of that I can do on my own." Eames took another drink of water, pulling his knees up so he could lean on them. "And of course it bothers Arthur, it's hard to name something that doesn't get his panties all up in a twist."

"How _did_ you do it?" Ariadne lowered her voice when she saw Arthur shift, but he still seemed asleep.

"It was as simple as misidentifying myself, getting on good terms with the loaders and hiding in plain sight. The big hangar door was not that hard to get the key to when I was supposed to be restocking things and just rolled out with all of it. And do you think anyone will report me? Absolutely not, no one will want to admit that it was their fault and no one saw the whole picture at any point in time. Most of the loaders thought I was bringing out empty bins, seeing as I made sure to complain about it at length-"

Arthur startled awake then, a coiled spring ready to jump up, looking around as if trying to remember where he was. It must have been another nightmare.

"You all right?" Eames asked in unison with Ariadne. Arthur gave both of them a flat look and reached for the food, starting in on the crackers and sipping on the water.

"We need to secure everything and get Rook upright," were the first words out of his mouth.

"Good morning to you, too, darling." Eames smiled placidly, amused at Arthur's abrupt descent into work. "We'd need to turn on the engine to get the landing gear in place. To do that we'll need to rewire and reinstall all of the pieces that we have, so nothing explodes. I'm guessing you want to go back in there as soon as possible? No one else gets a nap time?" He wasn't exactly against it, but he was comfortable and would love to sit for a little while longer than it took Arthur to scarf down his food.

"Yes, I'd like to get started: I don't need you to start securing things and you don't need me to take a nap," Arthur pointed out between bites. He looked to Ariadne, "How good with engines are you?"

"Actually, I can argue that I do need you to take a nap, but that's neither here nor there since I'm not planning on it."

"No," Arthur corrected, "you need a warm body, and if it isn't relevant don't bring it up."

Eames couldn't help but pout before sighing and letting it go.

"In any case, it's not a matter of being good with engines as much as it is being good at following directions." Eames looked to Ariadne who glared. "That's what I thought. It'll be easier for all three of us to work on the engine - there's not much that can be broken further by anything bigger than another full on crash and I don't expect we're aiming for higher than several feet off the ground. There's also lots of rewiring to do and plenty of tools to do it with. The quicker we get that done, the less dangerous walking around the ship will be." The front gear should have enough power to lift itself up off the ground if they leveraged the nose up at least a foot, perhaps with the help of the remaining thruster.

"Are we turning on the gravity generator in that case?" Arthur asked.

"It will turn on if we turn on the engine. We might as well clean some of it up, especially the glass and anything that might be dangerous. But there's little reason to actively tie down, say, the storage units. The refrigerator may have been a problem but there's nothing in it." He settled himself down because the fresh air hadn't erased the memory of the hot room completely. Neither was the ship going anywhere.

Arthur sighed but didn't launch up, and instead rolled his neck to the side and started massaging the muscles along his shoulder, clearly he was tired as well.

"I'll sweep the glass and you two work on the engine, and then I'll join you guys," Ariadne suggested, and Arthur grimaced although it might have just been that he hit a knot in his shoulder.

"Sounds fine to me," he said blandly.

"That's fair," Eames agreed. "I'm sure you don't want to be stuck in the engine room any more than we do." Arthur seemed to be expecting some sort of protest which bewildered Eames. Protest or something to go terribly wrong, neither of which made any sense. Of course, perhaps it was that he'd never seen Arthur act bored about work before. "Do you want me to get that for you?" he offered pleasantly, meaning the knots Arthur was still trying to work out of his shoulders. "Sleeping sitting up does little in the realm of comfort."

"That's not necessary," Arthur said quickly, retracting his hand abruptly and rising to his feet while scooping up his second water bottle. "I'll be in the engine room," he said and walked away.

"Now do you see what happens?" Eames huffed and gathered up Arthur's plate, stacking it on his own. "Where am I putting these?" Of course, he wasn't expecting Arthur to accept, in front of Ariadne anyway, and maybe it fell a little bit into the flirting category that Arthur had told him to stop with. He had been willing to give that a day at least and now he'd tripped up already. Maybe. He couldn't even be sure. Why was it that Arthur managed to deconstruct everything about anything he knew about working with people? It was frustrating, to put it mildly.

"It could have been worse, he didn't seem mad."

Eames shrugged. "I'm going to try and crack both of the doors, please don't sweep any glass down on us, I'd like to take my chances dying by Arthur strangling me rather than heat exhaustion."

"And I've got this, I'm just going to put it up in the transport. And I promise, not a single piece of glass if you promise not to be so melodramatic," she teased, standing up herself and collecting the dirtied houseware and heading towards the transport.

"Can't promise you that, love," Eames grinned this time, sliding first his right then this left arm into his shirt. It would be no use to leave it off and he didn't fancy his chances of getting any machine oil off with the soap they had available. He climbed the gang plank with far more effort than he did the first time, calves already complaining as he ignored them, just as he ignored everything else about him that hurt.

The heat was only making things worse, the pain killer working its way far faster out of his system than it should. The pain was starting up with a vengeance but Eames was thankful to even be there so he would stay quiet as long as he could. Drawing away some of the boxes, he propped open the door to the engine room leading to the cargo hold, walking in. Arthur was not in sight until he looked up, catching a glimpse of his shoes through the hatch. They hadn't brought the tools down yet. This way wouldn't work. He could reach down, not up. Well, the ladder was easier to climb than the stairs and he did so but not without setting off his shoulder again. "At least we'll get a little bit of a breeze through here and the hot air has somewhere to escape to, although I assume we'll be through the hot part of the day soon enough." He bit the inside of his lip, trying not to move his arm too much. Without the painkillers it was unforgiving. As long as he didn't rip his stitches he would be fine, he was sure. Probably.

"Your shoulder?" Arthur asked, once Eames was up. "Do you have medication somewhere besides the emergency kit?"

"I'm fine, thanks, it's under control." Eames breathed deeply through his nose, getting ready to head to the storage. It didn't hurt that bad if he didn't move it and he really didn't want to use up any more painkillers than he really needed. As long as he kept his elbow pinned to his rib, he would do just fine. And it wasn't as if he was going to do all the wiring by himself - and he couldn't, even on the meds - so there was no reason to waste any more.

"Eames, I have everything already," Arthur said before Eames could start to leave the room. He gestured to his shirt on the floor where he'd set it down, some of the tools spilling out and the parts half covered by the patterned cloth. "And it doesn't look like you have it under control."

"Oh." Eames looked at the pile in consternation, wondering how he'd missed it. Mind elsewhere and the shirt patterns had clearly led him astray. "Well, alright then, hop in, I'll hand it down." Eames sighed, bending to pick up the bundle. "And I do, really, I just didn't expect you to be so proficient at everything. I didn't take that long to follow you back and you already have everything set up, how do you do it?" He cleared a little bit of the glass away from the edge of the hatch with his foot, hefting the makeshift bundle in his hand, looking at Arthur.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "By not wasting time," he answered dryly but climbed down instead of prolonging the argument. "Pass it down."

It was at least refreshing to see Arthur walking around without a shirt on, a fact he could probably appreciate in more detail if he didn't have to monitor himself at every turn. His arm, threatening to go off with every wrong move and Arthur's oscillating opinion made it difficult to stop paying attention to his own movements and focus outward. Eames kneeled, carefully bracing his right arm against the floor, and hoisted the bundle down. The ladder wasn't too high and he let go several seconds after he made sure the bag rested in Arthur's hands. That was easy. Now the hard part - climbing down. Eames swung his legs over the edge, placing them on the lowest rung he could reach and starting down, sliding his good hand along the stile, trying not to even let himself tip backwards.

Eames resisted the urge to rest his forehead on the rung of the ladder in front of him when he was halfway down. It was definitely still hot in the room, opening the doors not doing much for it. And he was already tired, which irked him and he forced himself to press onwards, down the last two rungs, barely noting that Arthur was trying his best to hover somewhere within his line of sight. Touching, but he only noted it, breathing out a chest full of air and turning around, eying the engine. Well, there was no time to lose. "Probably best to put the replacements in first, then start in on the rewiring. I'd hate to accidentally lose any of these when it gets dark and there's always more wires around." And Ariadne was already busying herself upstairs with the broom. He was the only slow one it seemed and that annoyed him even more.

Arthur, of course, had picked the part that would be hardest for Eames to replace with only one hand. He felt like he should try to say something. It was best if this didn't escalate, however, so he would need to choose his words very carefully. He set up a little bit to Arthur's side, kneeling to detach the wires from a different part. Nonchalant would probably not work and he'd only get snapped at and shut down.

"I could probably get used to hovering behind me if I spent time on it. I mean, it'd probably make me less vigilant in the long run, but there's vigilance and then there's paranoia..."

"Work on it, don't, it isn't my business."

Eames sighed, unlatching and putting his own part, looking up as Arthur stood to fetch the replacement for what he was working on. "Well, it is a little bit your business. I doubt anyone else would want to babysit me in the shower. Which - thank you. I don't take it for granted."

"If I washed the wound in the tent, with the lantern hung and my hands on you, would that work better?" Arthur asked, still neutral and busy reconnecting wires.

"That's not much of a difference for me, but it'll probably be easier for you to do it that way," Eames managed, trying to concentrate on the actual meaning and not on the out of context _hands on you_ because that sounded far more distracting than it really should be. "I don't mind standing around in the dark naked if you're into that sort of thing." And he probably shouldn't have said that. "It's probably neater in the shower so we don't get water and blood everywhere, but we need light and don't want to be in anyone's way." Eames concentrated on rewiring his own part in, clipping the different wires to their proper places.

"Considering how you acted, it would be better if we took our showers separately before it got dark," Arthur replied before adding, "A bowl of water won't cause a mess, and it shouldn't be bloody. Yusuf didn't clean it as thoroughly as he should have when you tore the stitches open."

How he acted? What was that supposed to mean? Eames frowned but decided not to even try to defend himself. Somehow when they'd been to either side of the imaginary trench it had all seemed far simpler. He could ogle Arthur openly and Arthur'd rise to the challenge. Now? Now he had no idea in what direction he should even push for Arthur not to step away. "That's fine, you don't need to convince me. It wasn't much in the water conservation department, anyway," he added stubbornly. It felt like Arthur wanted to conclude the conversation and condemn Eames to several hours of boring silence, at least until Ariadne finished sweeping, which would be cruel. He knew for a fact that Arthur still had plenty of details to share, that he was willing to share, yet apparently not with Eames. Arthur had said he didn't hate him. So why he insisted they stay apart was a mystery. "Ariadne told me you regaled her with stories of your parents," he stated, not really asking the question, waiting to see how Arthur would react.

Arthur let out a slight huff of exasperation. "Regale is a strong word."

This was really promising to be dull. Eames sighed heavily, barely keeping a small whine from escaping with it. He might as well wait for Ariadne because this was useless. Still, he doubted there would be much room for small talk there, too mostly directing and instructing. Just one more try and then he really would give up. "So do I only get the sad stories? I don't get to see Arthur's happy side?" He could dredge up the conversation from before but that would devolve in more confrontation, surely.

"I've told you happy stories."

At least he'd somehow hit upon something Arthur wasn't loathe to talk about, judging by the familiar, contrary tone. It was odd to feel nostalgic for what was only a couple of days ago but he managed it anyway. The crash had changed quite a lot and with all his sleep time stretched out to unfathomable lengths. "Hardly. Little less than the facts about your schooling and that's not exactly happy." Eames leaned back, flexing his right hand for a little, wincing. He'd gotten a little bit of a rhythm going but it was still difficult.

" _I_ actually liked school, before," Arthur protested. "And I didn't say they were well-told stories."

"Well, you've got a chance to practice telling them again." Eames looked up, surprised to see Arthur staring down at him. It was likely about his arm, but he grinned nonetheless. "Because I'd like to know more than the bare bones of a happy Arthur, given they're so rare to come across these days." He flexed his arm once more, shifting so he settled his elbow onto the crease of his hip and turned back to the engine. He could listen and work at the same time and they did need to be doing things instead of just talking. The sun wasn't going to wait for them, after all and they had an engine to fix before it got too dark they couldn't drive out and ended up missing dinner. It seem they had less time than he'd thought.

"I'd like to stop talking," Arthur said flatly, "it's unfortunate our interests are so conflicting."

Eames sighed but more theatrically than really meaning it. "Conflicting interests can make a compromise. And I have to admit we have work to do so later perhaps? I'm sure there will be plenty of downtime between washing dishes and playing the avoidance game with Morena." He snapped the last wire into place before sitting back. At the very least it didn't feel like Arthur was shutting him down completely but it might have been the relief of the breeze passing through. Standing, he made his way over the the pile again, flexing his back while he was standing.

"I'm washing the dishes, not you, and I can't avoid her. I need the pad," Arthur asserted. "Is my water there?"

" _We're_ washing the dishes and avoid seeing her more than necessary." Eames grabbed the water bottle, walking over to hand it off. It was unfortunate that he wasn't more used to Arthur without a shirt - the only precedents he had were less than innocent and with the backdrop of his engine and some rather fetching smears of oil, well... He looked away instead, weighing the part he'd grabbed in his other hand. "I really doubt you want to actually spend one on one time with her."

Arthur accepted the bottle and delicately placed the rotatory down, leaving a trail of wires dangling in the process. He twisted off the cap and tilted his head back to drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before finally addressing what Eames had said. "No. I can handle the dishes, I don't need your help and you don't need any more strain on your arm. It's not up for discussion." He held out the bottle to Eames indicating that he should drink some too. "And I'll manage. She's not that bad."

He was just trying to drive Eames mad, wasn't he? It was difficult to even focus on arguing but he tried anyway, automatically taking the water bottle back. "I wouldn't mind use of the pad myself and you can hardly call doing dishes a strain on my arm." His shoulder twinged in offense, at least that managing to get his mind away from pressing Arthur against the nearest wall, 該死. He probably couldn't even manage that much because of his stupid shoulder. "But you don't have to therefore you don't need to." He took a drink, trying to look someplace else before sighing and wiping his mouth as well, handing it back so Arthur could close the lid.

Arthur scowled. He grabbed the bottle and sealed it. "Eames. Hold your right arm out," he challenged.

"Actually, waterboarding is my preferred method of torture." Eames rolled his eyes and didn't bother. "I can rinse and dry things, you know, I don't have to be scouring greasy dishes to be helpful. I also refuse to not be helpful. Not to mention the more I work on it, the faster it will get better."

Arthur's scowl deepened. "You had a branch go straight through your arm _two days_ ago, that isn't something you work off. You have to let it heal and then gain the muscle back. Trust me, it sucks."

"Two and a half actually and so? Doesn't mean I should let it atrophy." Arthur was probably right but Eames didn't want to just waste precious time lying around. Although now that he thought of it, he might be making it worse by not letting it heal. Except that he was letting it heal and now he was having a circle argument in his head. "In any case, it doesn't mean that I can't dry dishes at the very least."

"What are you guys arguing about now?" Ariadne peeked down the opening from the console room, frowning, mostly at Eames whose fault it was most certainly _not_ at this moment. "Am I the only one who's done with what she was supposed to be doing and ready to move on to the next thing?"

"And we're not arguing," Arthur answered, a little coldly, as she climbed down into the engine room, "Eames is just running his mouth."

A huff and Eames all but stalked over to the other side of the motor, picking up a different piece that didn't require anyone to climb under anything, and was conveniently on the other side so he didn't have to pretend not to stare. "Obviously I'm running my mouth, that's all I ever do, ain't it?" Eames huffed. But he'd lay off his arm, instead handing the piece off to Ariadne.

"Here, this will take me far longer to do than just talk you through it." She gave him a little bit of a glare for some unfathomable reason but followed him to the motor without a complaint other than "You two are impossible." Hopefully she wouldn't be too dull of a student.

"Is this the most serious injury you've sustained?" Arthur asked from the other side of the engine. Oh, _now_ he wanted to talk.

"Yes, I thought I said. Lucky. Come out of everything without a scratch." He still remembered the flood of relief and the superstitious notion that he'd somehow given his luck to Arthur when he'd first swam back to consciousness after the crash. Not one of his more graceful moments, really, but there had been little time for his ego to reinstate itself when all he cared about was that Arthur was alright. Eames slid over the stepping stool for Ariadne and her gnomish statue, miming a bow for which he received both a laugh and a sharp whap to his head, with a screwdriver of all the things. "Ow, 耶穌, just, unscrew those first and try not to lose them."

Eames leaned against the engine, watching Ariadne work, terse directions slowly turning into witticisms as he forgot about his annoyance. At least they were getting some work done, and he easily relaxed into her friendlier atmosphere, the teasing mutual and laughter easy, especially after accidentally bumping foreheads at one point. He didn't forget Arthur, tracking his position as they finished their respective pieces and rotated the engine, switching spots to replace something else with its designated spare. If Arthur didn't want to talk, fine, but at the beginning it felt very much like two students goofing off within earshot of a teacher.

This all went far quicker than Eames had thought. Ariadne was very quick on the uptake and the only thing he really had to do was start her off on something, and she would be quickly guessing all the right steps. So their talk was mostly entertainment, Ari a brilliant multitasker as well. It made him feel useless once again, but he ignored it quietly, enjoying her company instead of feeling sorry for himself. Until his arm was better, he would have to suffer through it and he needed a distraction from the dull ache.

"Done," Arthur said at length about his part in the rewiring.

Eames looked up from his spot on the floor, watching Arthur. The man hadn't said a word in all that time... Maybe he'd needed his concentration, but it wasn't exactly involved work. "Give us a couple of more seconds here - wait, if it doesn't fit in there it's probably the other way - oh, alright, you've got it." Eames stood as Ariadne closed off the wires before helping her up as well. "I'm supposing you want a test run?"

"Obviously."

Eames spun the engine, inspecting it one more time. Somehow the fact that there was this little damage seemed too good to be true, but there was nothing he could find that was off. "Well, let's see if anything catches on fire." He climbed up the ladder, heading towards the controls.

"I say something may explode and he chooses to stay down there. A man after my own life and well being." Eames sighed as Ariadne relayed that Arthur would stay in the engine room. He punched in the access code Arthur had given him, flipping life support off for now. They didn't need it anyway. The gravity generator started first, running off the residual electricity stored in the wires, everything shifting to be exactly perpendicular to the floor. Eames felt his calves relax. Well, that was working. A couple of more switches and the engine started humming, turning slowly in its chamber, gradually speeding up. The console was giving him the all green on that, at least, but all that told him was that it was turning, not so much if it was sparking. "Are we all clear down there, Arthur?" he paged, leaving the line open on speaker so all Arthur had to do was shout. It was a miracle he hadn't dismantled those comms yet, figuring he'd never need to use them.

"Clear," Arthur announced after a moment. "I need someone to take the old parts."

Eames watched Ariadne kneel to grab the extra parts, having to lean almost completely into the opening to reach. He waited until she had dragged the bits and pieces up through the opening and was not threatening to tip over into the engine room with a little nudge before setting about redirecting some power into the thruster. "It might get a bit bumpy," he announced to no one in particular, "please find something to hold on to, especially if your name is Arthur." There was the ladder to hold on to there, but little else unless Arthur took it upon himself to walk out to the loading dock and take a seat. They just needed a little lift, which would typically be no problem if they had two thrusters working. Seeing as they didn't... He started the outside vents as well, hoping the air streams would provide at least a miniscule amount of lift. Already the ship started on a minute tremble, the thruster starting pushing upwards, tilting them gingerly to the side. And the chassis were stuck. Not enough lift for all of them so none of them would come out. Goodie.

"We'll have to dig her out. Ariadne, how difficult is it to break ground?" Arthur asked as he hoisted himself out and stood the minute the ship settled back down.

"It's hard ground," Ariadne supplied. "It's difficult enough to put up a fence post, I'm not sure if we have the power to dig up a whole ship..."

Eames sighed, frowning down at the console before swinging around. "Not that I ain't enjoying my stay on this lovely paradise but I'd rather not make it longer that it has to be." He heaved another sigh, turning off the engines with a snap of his wrist. Everything settled back down towards the front of the ship, gradually, as the gravity let go and he sunk back into his chair, dangling his feet. "I think the best bet is just patching up what we can, turning on the grav when we need it most. Otherwise we can either try to prop it up on a box or keep wasting fuel on the landing gear. For today we can probably get going."

"There's some nearly intact ships in the scrapyard, we'll head out tomorrow and see if we can siphon some fuel," Arthur said and made for one of Eames drawers. "We should head out though," he said, "there anything we need? Where do you keep your towels and soap?"

"You mean you people haven't done that already?" Eames addressed Ariadne more, raising his eyebrows.

She just shrugged. "I don't keep track of everything but there's not much need for engine fuel. There might potentially be some left, although isn't just leaving fuel out a bit of a hazard?"

"It's not a hazard to anything but the engine and pipe lines," Arthur interjected, "provided it remains in the fuel tank and this planet doesn't get significantly hotter. Ariadne, you said those ships crashed less than a month ago. The fuel's fine if there's any still inside. As long as it hasn't oxidized or been exposed to water, it's the best secondary option we've got at the moment."

"Depends on the weather. If it gets hit by lightning, if you get any of that, it's definitely a hazard. Frankly, I imagine the whole town is a horrible lightning magnet. But no harm in checking," Eames nodded, standing up, assuming they were in the process of heading out.

Ariadne shook her head. "They're very rare, any weather is actually rare, although it helps with the planet's visibility from space at least, so we don't get as many crashes come a storm. But you're right, not everything we've got is grounded, exactly, there have been a couple of fires over the years." She'd sat down on the floor rather than remain standing at an incline, but straightened, also assuming they would be off.

Eames swung his legs back and forth one more time, watching Arthur don yet another one of his shirts. It was comfortable, with the gravity pushing him back into his chair, and he tried to stay as still as possible, lest it turn around and throw him out. "The towels and soap are near the sink, under the mirror there. You have a little bit of - stuff - on..." he circled most of his own head and torso with his finger. "You." Of course, it didn't mean that he was in anyway better off but machine oil was a pain to scrub off which was why he was wearing his shirt, if untucked and unbuttoned, in the first place.

Arthur shot him an unamused look at the comments regarding his appearance. "Yes. It's oil. It's also on you, and on Ariadne, but unless you'd like to turn life support on there isn't much I can do about it," he said, terse, as he made his way to the mirror, opening the drawer and pulling out the soaps and towels.

Eames grinned as Arthur dismissed him. "Well, yeah, but good luck finding all those spots on your back. At least our shirts we can take off and try to wash. I'm simply looking forward to a thrilling game of connect the dots for the next couple of nights." Ariadne couldn't help but snort, trying to cover it up with a cough at the last moment. Of course, this was given the assumption that Arthur slept shirtless, or they would be doing something else that would involve Eames having a clear view of Arthur's back, but it didn't stop him from saying it anyway.

"Good that it's only you two to witness them then," Arthur said, emphasizing how little he cared what either of them thought about a few dark splotches on his skin. "I'll meet you outside."

A half shrug and Eames headed down the stairs, carefully leaning on the railing as Ariadne hovered a half a step behind him. Arthur was heading off to his room for some reason, which would give them ample time to get settled in the transport. It was obviously growing towards evening now and he could even appreciate the sunset for once, the contrast between colorful sky and unrelentingly black ground rather striking.

"You're flirting with him."

Eames turned his head without breaking his step towards the transport. Ariadne looked at him expectantly, as if she'd asked a question that had a definitive answer. "Maybe? So? Is that also a problem?" She sighed and muttered something along the lines of 'men'.

"Arthur denies this but are you sure there's nothing going on between you two that's more than 'friends'?" she air quoted before climbing into the drivers side of the transport. "You already sleep with him, bicker like a married couple, I heard you all but promise to run away with him and now you're flirting. I find it hard to believe-"

"That we aren't madly in love? Oh, yes, absolutely, we're getting married on the morrow and having dozens of fat children from the pure force of our passion. So I find him not completely unfortunate to look at, I'll get over it eventually. Please don't assume things out of nothing." And he could have phrased that far less defensively, 糟糕, was he getting so comfortable that he was already forgetting how to lie properly? But it wasn't even a lie. Most likely the frustration talking, really and he slumped down in the passenger seat with a huff. In any case, Arthur was coming out of the ship and he was thankful to have him in earshot where he wouldn't be subjected to this discussion anymore. Ariadne simply gave him an unimpressed look, starting the transport.

"Ready to go, Arthur?"

Arthur dropped the rucksack to the side of crates and faded cloth from lunch, then stepped up and levered himself inside the vehicle, sinking into the seat. "Ready," he answered, and Ariadne had her foot pressed to the pedal.

"Ugh, how are you not starving, Arthur?" she asked over the wind picking up as she weaved through trees. It brought a chill over Eames, damp skin turning cold as his shirt fluttered. But he enjoyed it while he could, once they stopped moving he had no doubt the heat would be back, if slightly lessened compared to mid-afternoon.

"I never said I wasn't," Arthur admitted. A pause. "If you want to help wash dishes, take some painkillers."

"I was planning on it. I can put up with it still for a little longer, though." Eames kept it terse, unhappy with the fact that Ariadne could be listening intently to every intonation he made, hoping he'd slip up someplace. She seemed to be concentrating on driving, but that wasn't exactly reassuring. Because he wasn't going to slip up, there was nothing that he could possibly give away. Of course, it was harder to convince himself than anyone else. He propped his feet on the glove compartment again, enjoying the breeze. At least Arthur was agreeing to accept Eames' help. He'd anticipated yet another argument on that point, this was a little bit of a relief.

"There are a couple in the bag with the lunch trays in the back," Ariadne mentioned. "You probably should have taken them earlier, then it wouldn't hurt so much." And now he was getting the feeling of being chastised.

He didn't argue, however, turning his head to his right, as far as he could without leaning on his shoulder. "Would you mind passing me them, darling?"

Arthur did and Ariadne immediately mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like domestic under her breath. Eames sighed in an attempt not to glare, taking the bottle out of Arthur's hand, turning his head towards the front to pop it open. There was nothing, his mind insisted, and what Ariadne was seeing in a simple back and forth, an exchange of medicine for Christ's sake, he couldn't imagine. He was almost surprised at the offered bottle of water, used to taking the pills dry, but accepted it anyway, awkwardly trying to use only his left hand in the whole exchange. He hadn't exactly been waiting for Arthur's permission about the dishes, either, so he settled for ignoring her, maneuvering his left hand over his right shoulder in order to hand back the bottle of pills. The water was good at least and he realized he'd been rather thirsty, ending up drinking the whole thing. Thank god there was no shortage of water.

Ariadne slowed the transport to a stop, parked on the outskirts of Black Rock. She popped out quickly, grabbing the remains of lunch. "I didn't realize it was so late," she said, "I've got to take this stuff back, will you hold me a place in line?"

Eames clambered out of the transport, following Ariadne's quick departure with an unamused glance.

He still didn't see it, actually, he refused to see it, on principle because no one was setting him up with anyone and she could keep her meddling to herself.

"We'd better see if there's food left," Arthur said.

"We eat while everyone showers, we shower when everyone's asleep, however are we going to get to know these people?"

"Stay here tomorrow," Arthur suggested blandly.

"Absolutely not." Eames smiled, "You won't be rid of me so easily."

There was barely a line near the food but thankfully there was still some left and he waited for Arthur to leave his bag at one of the tables before getting on line. He wished he could have seen Arthur's reaction when Ariadne intimated there was something between them. Outrage, most likely, and probably quite amusing. Maybe he'd mention it later, just to see. Not in the middle of a bunch of people of course, perhaps when they were washing the dishes. Today's fare seemed to be decent, some defrosted and fried vegetables and soup, probably made out of the store of fish taken from Rook. It didn't smell too bad, either, as they moved closer.

Theo, the one armed man he'd met on Yusuf's rounds and Ariadne had mentioned, waved as he passed by before turning back to the man who was probably his husband, Han - he was carrying two towels and Theo wasn't. Probably on their way to the showers.

"Looks like it's not a problem after all," Arthur said as they moved up and grabbed two bowls, apparently deciding to take responsibility for Ariadne's share.

"You abandoned me," Eames said by way of explanation. "That's Theo and his husband. They're real nice - I'd rather you be forced to talk to them than Morena." He filled his own bowl, carefully balancing it in his right hand until he could put it down at the table. Arthur said nothing, just channeled annoyance. Eames probably shouldn't have said anything about who he wanted Arthur to talk to. He didn't mean it the way it came out.

When he turned around from the table, Ariadne was approaching them in slight jog.

"Ah, there's some left." She took her bowl out of Arthur's hand, leading them to the table where Arthur had left the bag. "Mm, this smells good. Did you have a lot of spices, Eames, this smells like real food."

"A bit." Eames sipped from his bowl before they even sat down. "Mmm, it's pretty decent."

"At least it shouldn't be too hard for you guys to clean, for soup it's just a bunch of pots and most it comes out in a rinse. No hard scrubbing." Ariadne informed them, then almost petulantly "Xui Li is lucky, last time I was sick I still had to do the dishes."

"Looks like we lucked out then. Hopefully she isn't too sick. I didn't meet her the time I followed Yusuf around, so I'm assuming it was a recent thing?" The soup warmed is insides and he almost shivered, stretching his legs out under the table. It was actually already rather chilly. The soup from his bowl disappeared faster than he would like, but he was satisfied, the pangs of hunger that had been previously eclipsed by his shoulder subsiding.

Ariadne turned sheepish, "I wasn't that sick, it was just a cold, Yusuf had given me the all clear. And yeah, Xui Li came down with something really early this morning, you guys were probably still asleep. Speaking of which, you didn't want another mattress, Arthur?" She lifted the bowl and drained the last of it, while giving Eames a look.

Arthur's mouth thinned. Eames had forgotten all about the mattress, even though he remembered thinking he should remind Arthur of it back on the ship. He narrowed his eyes at Ariadne's implication instead, but listened more for Arthur's response. "Until he finds another method of getting a full night's sleep, I don't have much of a choice," Arthur explained as he stood, stacking his bowl inside of Eames' and repeating the action with Ariadne's.

"Yusuf's working on something, so we might need to be dragging it over fairly soon." And now he sounded like he was kicking Arthur out which was probably the opposite of what he wanted, but it wasn't as if Arthur had sounded particularly enthused in the first place. "Or whatever Arthur decides on. Obviously," he shifted the responsibility off himself.

Ariadne nodded then followed Arthur's gaze to the kitchens where they could see the stacks of pots and plates waiting for them. "Good luck. I think I'll take my shower now, while there's still light," she said, running off like they would ask for her help if she stayed. Eames couldn't say he blamed her. She was probably as tired as they were. At least showering in the dark wasn't exactly new. Eames sighed and watched Ariadne go, wondering how to politely get her to quit meddling. There was a snowball's chance in hell of anything growing out of their arrangement with Arthur, not if he was having this much trouble to get the man to even warm up to him for a hot minute.

He followed Arthur to the kitchens instead, detouring to grab the ones left in the serving area to bring to the back as well. Thankfully these ones were aluminum, and not very heavy. There was little leftover, too, most of the pots scraped clean. "You can start the water, I'll just gather most of these up into one big pile instead of several small ones."

"It'll be faster if I do it," Arthur interceded, moving to grab a pot before Eames had the chance to touch it.

Yet another sigh for the day but Eames relented. "You might have two working hands but a blind man can see you're more tired than I am, running off at the mouth as I did all day." Not that he was annoyed at Arthur's previous dismissal, but he might have been more amenable if it didn't all boil down to sitting around doing nothing of value. He turned on the water in the sink instead of voicing that for the umpteenth time, however. Might as well bring up Ariadne instead because Arthur was ignoring him and he could use some entertainment.

"So what _have_ you told Ariadne that has put her under the impression that we're planning to start a farm and raise some children? She's viciously attached to that idea, disregarding all evidence to the contrary." There was little soap and just a scouring pad in the sink, which he supposed made sense. It was preferable to keep skin clean rather than dishware that didn't see much action in the first place.

"I'd look to whatever you told her, and your disturbing need to hold me," Arthur returned.

"She's a smart girl, she can pick up sarcasm. Also it's fun to make you squirm. Not to mention if you did as well a job as you should, she should leave it alone." If anyone was good at shutting people down, it was Arthur, so why Ariadne still had lingering doubts was beyond him.

"She's also stubborn. I told her how we met, first on Ariel and then on Persephone and I told her there was nothing between us regardless of what she saw." Arthur said firmly, setting down the last stack of pots and attempting to sidle in where Eames was standing and take over.

"The whole story?" Eames let Arthur replace him at the sink, shaking the excess water off his hands. Probably not but it didn't mean he couldn't poke their rather complicated first and second night with a stick. "Including the bits with the attempt to get naked? No wonder, then, forget I asked. I guess we will have to get married in the morning after all." He sighed as if he was largely put upon.

"Are you done? Has this been amusing enough for you?" Arthur asked, not bothering to play along or mask his irritation. He scrubbed viciously and without looking up, concentrating on cutting through the remnants of dried broth clinging to the bottom.

"Aw, darling, why don't you like me when I'm being silly? You should know I'm joking and I don't mean it to hurt. You could always join in and show of that sense of humour I know you have hidden down there." So maybe it was a little bit late in the day for it, especially for Arthur, but it didn't warrant getting upset over. And it wasn't like he was being lewd, therefore keeping a little bit to Arthur's demand he stop making those sorts of comments. He couldn't imagine he'd said anything really hurtful and what was fun without being at least a little bit inappropriate. "You couldn't have honestly thought I meant what I said this morning, did you?" he looked down, swirling water in the bowl he was holding. "You didn't answer and I wasn't exactly in my best state. A drop into pessimism was fitting, if unwarranted."

Arthur gave him a dark look as he carried on washing the pot, dropping it in other sink to be rinsed and dried while he moved on to the next. "I thought jokes were supposed to be funny, yours aren't," he said briskly.

"Well, make it funny then. Or laugh at me for not being funny. It's not rocket science." Eames rinsed out the pot in his sink, reaching over to grab the dishcloth and start on the drying.

"I knew you didn't mean a word of it."

"Did you really? Because I made a whole big wad of heavy handed assumptions and demands which I shouldn't have. I do trust you, you know, even when you're downright frigid I think you'll come around eventually. And in between discussing our nonexistent family life I did promise Ari to talk to you. Which would be far easier if you talked back so that's why I'm saying all this, because I like you, really and I do want to see you, no matter what impression I may be giving off at a particular point in time." And that might have been a little bit too much. He cleared his throat sheepishly, concentrating on collecting every water droplet he could find, with the dish cloth before putting the pot down when there really was nothing else he could do with it.

He watched Arthur wash for a moment, eyes locked on the dishware instead of looking up like Eames wanted him to. They stayed quiet for a moment. "It wasn't wrong to ask for some assurances," Arthur said carefully. So that was what had been bothering him. "but I can't give them. I'm not... emotionally supportive."

"Sure it was, I put you on the spot. But I don't see why that would be a problem. At least, I'm not planning on getting anymore holes blown in my body as far as I can help it. I don't have that many handkerchiefs." Eames rinsed out the next pot, relaxing a bit when Arthur didn't accuse him of being sentimental or fostering feelings because if taken out of context, well. He had suggested they run away together already.

"So your shoulder was planned," Arthur said dryly.

"Of course it was, the trees just looked suitably pointy." Eames laughed, shaking his head. "See, it's not that hard. I knew you could be funny. Maybe one day you'll even try to reach out to people. Who knows, you might even enjoy it, if you find the right people."

"I'm going to stop you right there, because that is the weakest advice I have ever been given. Do you honestly think I haven't tried? Do you think I woke up in the morning, looked at the person next to me, and just decided that I didn't want it to work out? Do you think it didn't hurt to come home and realize I didn't know how to talk to people that I had grown up with? Here's some advice for you, don't offer it."

"I know you didn't just stop trying, not like I did. It's more of a selfish thing, in the sense of please talk to me, I'm actually trying for the first time in a long time. And I know I'm good at talking to myself but that's hardly fun and neither is always initiating conversation and things that we need to talk about. But besides that you seem to be trying to make a job of it. Which is probably the oddest thing I've seen. Not everyone wants something when they ask how you've been in the past couple days. Then again, look who's talking, but at least I'm good at it and I don't want anything at the moment but some company."

Arthur cleared his throat, still looking at a pot he was holding. "What else is there to talk about?"

"Well, for starters, you shouldn't feel obligated to be my physical crutches either. I'll be kicking myself for this later but I don't want to be forcing you to share my bed, not if you're not getting anything out of it. I've survived very well on my own and I'm certain Yusuf will come up with something to help me actually sleep sooner or later. He certainly seems confident enough about it. And if I mess up my arm, it'll be my problem to deal with, as well, you don't have any responsibility over my healing process that you don't want."

"Eames, I am not going to watch you tear open your stitches again, not if all it takes is sharing a bed," Arthur cut off. "If Yusuf comes through or you want someone else, fine, but your arm isn't just your problem if we're," he paused, "working together. Understood? I told you once before, it was my choice. It will always be my choice."

"I don't-" want someone else, anyone else, at all, almost fell out of his mouth but Eames stopped it before it could get any further. Ariadne 妈 的她, putting the idea that Arthur might actually _care_ in his head, he hadn't missed the little fumble as Arthur tried to find a word for them. It wasn't unexpected but it wasn't exactly grounding, either and he thought about maybe having a wank at some point soon because he had a breaking point and they were coming up closer and closer to it, if even unrelated things affected him like this. But wherever was he going to find the privacy, even to take a leak he had been directed to simple open stalls with half a door to cover his arse. "As long it is your choice, I will be satisfied." At least he managed to sound coherent. He breathed out, concentrating on not wandering into the red light area of his own imagination. An area with a population of only one. "I told you that already, I think, but it's hard to be sure with you." He took up the pot Arthur passed him, running it under the stream of water, the motion already mechanical. "I'd hate for you to be miserable on my account, but I believe you if you say so."

"Isn't that what friends do?" Arthur asked, scrubbing particularly hard at a spot on the plate he was holding, "Help, regardless of what it takes?"

"I-whoah-!" Eames floundered to catch the pot that had slipped out of his dishcloth, managing to at least bounce it off into the sink where it made a loud clatter and splash, bouncing against the metal walls and other dishes. "Well, that was dramatic." He'd completely lost his train of thought as well but laughed at his own clumsiness, trying to quickly regain it. At least no one had come running, because the last thing he needed was a large audience for this.

He hadn't expected such an easy revelation and he was split between shaking it off as a given or dropping everything and kissing Arthur silly - because _that_ was platonic. "I suppose it is." He grinned instead, giving Arthur a little hip check because he just couldn't resist, busing has hands with drying the stray pot all over again. Frankly if some other phrase could make him as happy...

It was rather embarrassing, actually, and there was a chance that Arthur was about to conclude with 'but I guess that's what you wanted to hear.' But he would take that chance and be unabashedly thrilled while he could. "As well as making sure friends don't forget themselves while taking care of friends. But I suppose I'll take on that responsibility, shall I?"

Arthur retaliated by tipping the dish he was currently washing at an angle, letting it catch the spray and sending it in Eames' direction, before righting it. "My apologies," he said, while obviously fighting down a smile of his own.

Eames wrinkled his nose at the water, wiping the droplets away with his towel, then his sleeve, laughing. "Are you trying to start something because if we start something, we are are never getting finished before sun down." He wiped the damp corner of the pot on Arthur's sleeve anyway, just to be fair, and because Arthur was smiling so nicely, a rare sight indeed, then backed half a step away. "And there are still showers to be had and wounds to be cleaned and everything, so unless you want to shower twice, I would consider your next move very carefully."

Arthur's smile turned mischievous, "I don't start things, I finish them."

"Oh, do you, now, darling?" Eames made the mistake of nearing the sink again. He figured they would just continue with banter only to end up with a small glob of suds on his shirt as Arthur flicked some at him. "So this is how it's going to be?" They were acting like kids but Arthur was smiling slyly and that made wasting time and water completely alright. He put down the pot, flicking his hand under the stream coming out of the faucet, making certain that a large line of fat droplets landed squarely on Arthur's shirt and face as he got lucky. Should it really escalate, he could always plug the faucet and then they'd both get wet in a large suicidal attack. He took his games seriously after all.

Arthur flinched as the water hit his face and dripped down on to his shirt, but the smile lingered. "I'm afraid so," he said, a little smug, "unless you forfeit." He snagged the bowl he'd been cleaning, half-filled with water, and swiftly flipped it to spill the water all over Eames.

"Ah!" And now he was covered in water, blinking it out of his eyes as valuable seconds ticked by, and he all but burning to win this. "Just because I let you win once-" By now the pot he'd put down was a good deal fuller than the bowl Arthur had upended on him and was trying to refill. A strategic placement. "-doesn't mean you'll get away with it a second time." He shouldered his way past Arthur, grabbing one of its sides, pulling and stepping out to the side at the same time, sending its contents flying at Arthur. Arthur raised his arms, dropping the bowl in an effort to shield himself as he stepped back seconds too late. "Handicap or no!"

"I didn't realize you were trying this time," Arthur scoffed as he dodged for his own bowl and angled it so the water sprayed at Eames wildly. The pot Eames was now using as a shield caught most of the water.

Oh, if Eames just had two working arms, this would be so much easier, but even so he was winning by amount of water thus far. Whatever the ground was made of didn't appear to be particularly water soluble either, so at least it wasn't muddy, if it was a bit slippery. "Of course, I'm trying, I'm also winning," he grinned from behind his defense, keeping his eyes trained on the bowl. He managed to save his head from Arthur's attempt to upend the bowl over it, the water trickling down the pot onto his arm and shoulders however, and he rushed to butt in while Arthur didn't have the bowl even somewhat full, plugging the faucet like he'd planned to, using his mass to his advantage.

Arthur nearly slipped, losing the bowl a second time and managing to catch his balance by holding fast to the sink and ending up with a face full of water. He spluttered, and held his hand up to stem the spew, blinking rapidly to keep the drops from falling in his eyes. He stepped back, relinquishing ground to try and move Eames out of the way, approaching from the left and trying to push at Eames while avoiding as much of the spray as possible. "We'll... see..." Arthur grunted, even as Eames resisted his efforts to shove him over.

A laugh and Eames let go of the faucet and turned it off, shaking his head. He was dripping wet now, too, and the spray from his head went in all directions like a dog shaking itself off. Arthur could have the sink all to himself now except for how his attempt to step away, ending with Eames slipping and falling on his arse for lack of a better landing spot that didn't involve his right arm, his left scrambling for purchase on either the edge of the sink.

Arthur took advantage and grabbed the bowl, partially full again, and dumped it on his head. "Do you surrender?" he asked triumphantly.

Eames looked up, trying to peel his eyelashes open, spitting water out of his mouth. This could have ended badly had he not fallen so well, but he grinned up, brushing soggy bangs off his forehead. "And if I say no?" He wasn't in a hurry to get up, really, and the view was rather nice, even if his shoulder hurt slightly, unappreciative of being moved around as much as it had been. It was easily ignored in favor of a drenched Arthur, giddy with perceived victory and finally forgetting to worry about Eames' well being to a backdrop of a pale sunset. He propped his good hand on Arthur's foot, still looking up, even as Arthur gripped the sink, expecting to be taken down. "Down, but am I out? What if this is a masterful ploy to distract you while I prepare for a counter attack?" The faucet was off so he'd have a few seconds warning should Arthur want to spray him again.

"Hey guys, I thought I'd bring you a lantern- are you okay?" Eames turned, dragging his legs under him immediately. But it was just Ariadne, taken aback but slowly smiling a Cheshire's grin. "On what world do they wash dishes like that? You're both soaking wet!" Well, at least their towels were close, Eames thought, smiling as well. He had no defense or excuse and if Arthur wanted to come up with one he could be his guest.

"Eames spilled water, and then slipped," Arthur deadpanned, holding out a hand to help Eames up.

"And how much water did he spill... exactly?" She adopted a look of disbelief.

"Uh, around a full pot. We were just having a little water fight, no harm, no foul, boredom gets to everyone." Eames smiled, letting go of Arthur's foot in order to take his hand. It was useless to lie about it, there was nothing short of a severely localized weather storm that could explain the scene. He struggled to stand, making sure not to slip again. "Thank you for the lantern, though. We'll finish up here so you can get your rest."

Ariadne squinted at them, hands on her hips, still smiling although she was trying for stern. "Right, well, stop wasting water, since you've already wasted all of your daylight. We have more work to do tomorrow." With that she turned and left.

Eames snickered, ducking his head against the sound, belatedly releasing Arthur's hand to run it through his hair, slicking it back with the water. "Ohboy, well, at least she'll lay off about it. Phew. That. Was something. I'll have you know that I would have totally won had it not been for my shoulder." He didn't even try to make it sound serious. "We should do that more often."

Arthur turned the water back on to resume washing. "If you're that desperate to be proven wrong, certainly," he taunted. "I could beat you in anything you care to try."

"I'm sure you can, taking advantage of a injured old man as you are." Eames grabbed his discarded dishtowel, not even trying to use it on himself, hanging it in a dry spot instead. There was too much water and he didn't really want to smell like damp cloth. He shrugged out of his shirt instead, shivering and wringing it out before hanging it on one of the benches. He had little use for it now, unless he wanted to get a sick as soon as a breeze blew through. "Bet you can't beat me at cards though. Off with your shirt unless you want to get hypothermia, we're still going to be here for a while." They might have gotten through half the dishes and Eames was considering toweling off as it was getting far cooler.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "It's interesting that your story changes. One moment your shoulder isn't an issue, the next it renders you incapable..." At least he complied and rid himself of the soaked shirt.

"I play it to my advantage, what can I say. Gotta get some use out of it, why else is it sitting around?" Eames prodded at his bandage a little, deeming it fit to stay for at least a little bit longer. "Yeesh, by sheer water content, I definitely win this round," he said as Arthur finished wringing out his shirt. And he was back under his own control, thankfully, mind only stuttering the slightest bit as Arthur raised a brow, quite shirtless.

"Is that how we're calling it? Because I thought it was last man standing. Do you have a deck?"

"I should, I think there was one correct one hidden somewhere in the console room. Don't use that one often, see?" He shivered again, trying to hurry with the dishes. Frankly he could use a shower, their impromptu water fight reminding him exactly how dusty and greasy he was after their trip out to Rook. "What's your best game then?"

"You would play with dirty cards," Arthur huffed. "I used to play Blackjack and Gin Rummy. What are we betting, once we find the cards?"

"Used to- ah right, copper and all, but really, no poker nights? How dull."

"Federal agent," Arthur corrected, huffing and scrubbing at a plate.

"Are we raising the stakes already? It's not like we have things to bet with, not really, besides favours because it isn't as if money's much use around here." It was getting far too chilly to be even vaguely comfortable and he could almost see Arthur's teeth chattering. Goodness, it was just dishes, not the night watch. He put down his plate, newly dry. "You know what, hold on to that thought a tick." Eames put down his dish cloth, jogging over to the long forgotten bag under the table. There we go, towels. He might not be clean but he could sacrifice a towel to get dry, walking back with one draped over his head and shoulders, already feeling much better. The second one he wrapped around Arthur's shoulders, the man was freezing to the touch. "In any case, we can start for no stakes, up the ante later if you want to."

"Sounds more like you're worried I'll win," Arthur taunted once he dried himself trying and failing to not look thankful for the towel. No matter how much energy he'd had during their impromptu battle, Arthur was still tense and tired. Lifting whole storage units was not a menial task after all.

"Seeing as you have all that recent experience, of course you're liable to run me out of house and home. And I would expect no less." He couldn't even be sure what Arthur could offer to a pool. Most of the things that he had were in reality Eames'. Even the music box, since Arthur had forfeited it as well, if nonverbally. So just his original clothes, which weren't much to speak of. "Why, was there something you're keen on winning off me?"

"You expect me to believe that it's only because you don't want to take advantage me?" Arthur fired in return before finally considering what he would want to bet.

"Why, do you want to be taken advantage of? Because that could be easily arranged." Eames chuckled, only narrowly avoiding actively contemplating the full meaning. There was little use to him if he got flustered by his own innuendos.

Arthur looked unimpressed. "Information," he settled finally.

Information..? Well, that certainly raised the stakes somewhat. Off the top of his head Eames could list at least several things he didn't want to talk about but at the same time many things he wanted to know about Arthur. The first category, while sizable, was rather small in comparison to what he would like to learn, even if it was menial things like the story of Arthur's parents meeting. Logically, he'd be a fool to trade uncomfortable information for satisfying his own whims and curiosities, but logic never seemed to apply to Arthur, not in Eames' case. "Sounds like a fair deal to me. Open ended or predetermined questions and are we weighing answers by value if it's the second case?" He wouldn't leave those rules open to interpretation.

Arthur took a moment to consider as he finished the last bowl. "Open ended, and responses should be equal and direct, we get three passes or the winner will find a new question. Anything you'd like to add?"

"Fair enough," Eames conceded, nodding. "And no. So the only thing left is to actually find that deck of cards. It should be intact but I can't rightly recall where it might be." And that would be Arthur's last bowl. Finally, it was rapidly getting hard to see. It was a miracle they even managed to finish before it was completely dark and they couldn't even rely on a moon to light their way. It was a good thing Ariadne had dropped by, even though or perhaps especially because it cut their fun short. "Ah, finally, I thought we'd be here forever."

"Shower," Arthur announced, picking up the lantern and heading for their table only to draw out a change and hand it off to Eames. Now that they had two lanterns they could - and would - take their showers separately apparently. Eames didn't know if he should be happy or disappointed.

Arthur was obviously tired though and he should probably hurry. He dug out the soap from the bag Arthur had brought. "I'll try and make it quick," he said, picking up the lantern and heading for the shower.

At least there was no line. There was no one there at all, in fact, and Eames put down the lantern, wondering at how strange it was to be alone. In the now three days that had passed since their crash it was only the second time he was left all to himself. After years of travelling alone he would think it would bother him more than it did. As neurotic and impossible as Arthur was, he was never unpleasant to be around. Eames smiled to himself, turning on the water and then frowned as his imagination, unleashed by the fact that it was dark and quiet, started up again on the beaten track of sex and sex with Arthur and exactly how gorramn much he wanted it. Oh for godsakes. It was coming out of nowhere now.

The water wasn't even warm enough for him now and Eames rubbed his face in his hands, trying to chase the thoughts away, only ending up shivering instead. Forget it - he might as well take some time to himself now, while he had the chance. Relieve the tension so to speak.

Except for how it didn't help. Well, it did, it a sense, he had been backed up for quite some time now but he just felt guilty instead of satisfied, for reasons he really didn't want to dig through. He'd worked so hard to get Arthur to trust him and now just felt like the biggest 混蛋 and slightly feverish on top of it. The water just felt cold and he felt gross and achey. Fantastic.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur snagged a book without bothering to read the title, which was printed in warped and dripping letters on black background. All the indication Arthur needed it was some pulp fiction in the vein of horror, and sure enough within the first few pages he was introduced to a small religious settlement on Whitefall with all the trappings associated. He heard movement outside and was on his feet in seconds, but the tent flap lifted and it was only Morena. Some of the tension dropped, Arthur guard becoming less obvious, less physical, but still there. He dipped his head politely, and she stepped in, the pad tucked to her side.

"Expecting someone different?" Morena smiled, not offering the pad. "That bed can't be large enough for the both of you. I heard your ship is mostly intact, isn't there a larger mattress you could use so you wouldn't be so cramped?"

The first question was rhetorical, so Arthur didn't waste time or energy in answering it. He did try to relax, however, both because she had called him on it and he had no reason to be overly suspicious, and because if he worked himself up he definitely wouldn't be able to sleep. He looked to the bed when she mentioned it, though he was certainly well aware of how small it was. A little bigger than the bedrolls he'd spent four years in and out of on various ships and worlds. It was unfortunate that that question wasn't also rhetorical and more so because while she still had the pad he couldn't simply brush her off. "Holding someone helps Eames sleep, we haven't found an alternative yet," he answered plainly. He left out the part about nightmares and thrashing and torn stitches because if she hadn't already heard, Arthur wasn't going to be the one to inform her.

"Well, I'm sure Yusuf is already on the job, so you won't be inconvenienced for long. I was wondering however... I know that you are from Ariel. What about Eames? He won't tell me anything, oddly enough, although he seems to have a good education, if questionable tastes in literature. I'm not sure why that might be."

Arthur went rigid, physically and mentally walling himself off. "That's his business," Arthur said, a little sharp but still controlled. "If he hasn't answered your questions, I'm not going to answer for him." Unless she had a good reason, Arthur's loyalty was to Eames first and Eames had made his mistrust known. Arthur didn't quite share it, only being as reserved towards Morena as he would be to anyone, but he respected Eames' right to privacy. He assumed Eames would do the same - although, maybe Eames hadn't been as tight-lipped with Arthur's. The thought that Eames had gone around telling Arthur's life to throw people of his own made him uncomfortable. He might have been willing to forgive Eames for telling Ariadne, but if he'd told Morena and the rest of Black Rock, even just inconsequential information like his home planet... Or perhaps it had been Ariadne. He didn't know anything for sure, and then he tensed further. What if she had seen the bulletin? What if that was how she knew? He braced himself, not sure which option he would rather deal with - Eames' or Ariadne's breach of trust, or having to answer for the accused crimes once again. "How did you know I was from Ariel?"

"Word gets around," Morena answered blandly. "I don't see any reason you should be ashamed of it, there are people of all different sort here. Of course, not many have such a colorful military history. Nor can there be that many Arthurs en route past our planet. I'm surprised Ariadne is so comfortable around the both of you, enough to take the both of you out of town by herself."

Arthur went still for a moment before rationality returned. Morena wasn't afraid, or on the offense, her tone had expressed nothing more than curiosity, idle curiosity at that. He took the pad as his body went lax, she was willing to listen and it seemed Ariadne's trust had bought him something. He stared at it as he debated his response. She had been kind, in her own way, a way that Arthur understood better than Eames' peculiar mix of unkind witticisms and startling generosity. If he wanted her continued help, he should probably give her an idea of who she was working with. He would have wanted the same. "I made some enemies on Ariel, people apparently capable of finding old reports and altering them. I didn't - It wasn't me. I just, I couldn't stop it." He closed his eyes and exhaled, "If you need more than that, ask Ariadne, I don't think I can explain it again," he admitted. He had limits, and he was pushing them. He was willing to be compliant, he just couldn't stomach discussing that incident right now.

Morena folded her hands in front of her. "So a career criminal and a man accused, if wrongly, of a murder spree. That's quite a pairing. Had I known the facts I would be hesitant to pick you up in the first place. There's very little about you on the Cortex and there is no place to even start with just Eames for a name. Not that I mean to cause a fuss, but that's hardly enough information to trust the both of you on, especially Eames."

"Ma'am," Arthur said, already starting to defer to her unconsciously, given her gentle, unyielding tone, "I don't know if there's anything I could say to earn your trust. I was born and raised on Ariel, I joined the ranks when I was sixteen. I saw and did things that no one should, survived things that I shouldn't have, and then I came home and performed my duties to the best of my abilities. I don't know who I crossed, but I know if I hadn't met Eames, I'd be dead at their hands. I didn't trust him either, there are times I still don't, but believe me when I say he wouldn't harm anyone here, he only wants to help. Knowing where he was born won't change that fact. I don't know why he's suspicious of you, whether it's because of your former profession or because of something you said, or both, but it's his prerogative and I wouldn't be able to tell you much even if that weren't the case."

"So you give your word for him. Interesting. Most likely he mistrusts me because I know the same tricks he does and he doesn't respond well to being matched. At least, that is the impression I get, which is why I am interested in his... origins, so to speak. But I suppose I shall never find out, as he won't relent, I'm afraid." She sighed, almost sadly.

Some of the certainty he had regarding his loyalty faded when she mentioned tricks, and Arthur remembered just how much of his friendship was based on little more than good faith that Eames was being genuine. "Like what?" He asked, trying for mild curiosity rather than growing suspicion. He wanted to trust Eames, but there were a great many people he'd wanted to trust and couldn't. He twitched, a small brisk movement of his head in the direction of footsteps outside the tent, noticeable due to the eerie silence that lack of wildlife generated. And it may not have been Eames, but the possibility remained and Arthur had no desire to be caught out on his mistrust. He wasn't even certain Morena had anything he wasn't already aware of, and if that were the case he'd rather not let Eames know about his moment of doubt. There were enough issues to sort out. "Thank you for the pad," he said, hoping that Morena was half as good at reading the situation as Eames generally was, and that she understood Arthur still wanted an answer, but later when he had privacy, "I'll see you tomorrow morning about what you'd like me to do next?"

"That will be fine," she nodded instead of calling him on his skittishness. "I will see you tomorrow morning." Morena ducked out of the tent.

Arthur watched her go and suppressed his concerns for later. There wasn't a need to spend the night agonizing over something that may not have been an issue and if he let the idea fester Eames would sniff it out within seconds. He had enough time to drop the pad on the bed and half-turn to grab a change of clothes before: "Sorry about that, almost lost the soap in the dark a couple of times, and it'd be a shame to just lose it the first night. Sorry, did I startle you?" Eames was back.

"No, I thought I heard you," he answered, continuing towards the pile of shirts, grabbing one at random and then a pair of pants and boxers. "Morena stopped by," he gestured to the pad, smaller than the one he was used to carrying around. He picked up the towel, still wet he noted with contained disappointment. He held his hand out for the lantern, it would be easier to take the one Eames had than to unhook the other as he asked, "Do you still have the soap?" Eames handed him the box before going to inspect the pad.

"I would imagine she wants some other favor for prolonged use, too. Did she say what?" Eames asked, sitting down with it before picking up the book instead.

Arthur crouched to take the lantern first, letting it slide over his hand to rest at his wrist while the clothing draped over the rest of his arm, then he straightened and accepted the soap case. "No, I'll have to speak with her in the morning," he answered, hoping he sounded casual if put upon.

"Markoff, Arthur? I thought she'd be too pulpy for your tastes. I'm probably dropping off soon, so feel free to roll me over if I'm out before you come back."

He shot Eames an exasperated look. Was he really going to give him a hard time over a book he'd just picked up, one that came from Eames' own library? "Spare me, I didn't feel like browsing through your vast and varied collection," he said dryly, his gaze falling to the small pile of paperbacks. Though he was tired enough that tripe was about all he could process, and even that was questionable. "And I still have to change your bandages," Arthur pointed out, which meant he'd probably have to wake Eames. He wouldn't be able to roll him over anyway, not with his shoulder, and if Eames had issues with people at his back, sliding in behind wasn't an option either. Best to stop wasting time, then, and he slipped out without waiting for a response.

Arthur made a quick detour to the kitchens to snag a medium-sized pot, then he headed for the spigot and showered, quick and proficient - though he did spend a bit more time on his back than he ordinarily would have. He toweled and dressed with the same quickness while he let the water fill the cookware, focused only on the task at hand. Better not to let his mind wander while he was tired, sore muscles only made more so by the brutal, concentrated pressure. He turned off the spigot and picked up the dirtied clothes, then rested the lantern on his wrist and dropped the soap in the pot, some of the displaced water splashing and sloshing out. He hefted it up and headed for the tent, his body protesting every step along the way.

He stepped inside, crossing to the bed and finally setting the pot down. Eames was asleep, he noted, envious, but he gave the man a few extra moments while he gathered what he needed. He didn't consider letting the bandages stay on for the night, between the built up sweat and natural oils and the fact that they had been soaked during their water fight, they needed to be changed. "Eames," he said loudly, too exhausted to be gentle and some of his fonder regard already beginning to fade in the wake of what Morena said. It wasn't a conscious defense, but the walls were starting to take form nonetheless.

Eames sat up with a yawn, eyes barely open. "'M... not awake..." He yawned again, still hunched over. "Where do you want me?"

"Chair," Arthur instructed, sliding it closer and turning it so that Eames could simply drag himself across the bed and drop into the seat. "And if you can sleep through it, be my guest," he added, though he doubted Eames would be asleep for long once Arthur started dabbing at the wound. He dipped the washcloth into the now mildly soapy water, glad it was still warm for Eames' sake.

Another yawn and Eames sighed but sat in the chair without much fuss, still rubbing at his nose and forehead. "...Really it couldn't have waited until the mornin'? What's goin' to happen to it if we wait another eight hours or so?"

"It could cause an infection," Arthur stated rationally as he began unwinding the bandage, leaning in to get at the back. If he could avoid creating stress for Eames, he would, he might even be able to clean the wound without standing behind him if he had Eames lean against him. He wondered if Yusuf had discovered the issue, and if that was why he had chosen that awkward position when he had to redo the stitches. Perhaps Eames had reacted badly before.

Once the bandage was off, Arthur disposed of it in the small receptacle on the other side. He returned quickly, and started in on the front, keeping the touches light and gentle, wiping away dried sweat and trace amounts of blood. Eames must have put more of a strain on it than he should have, but at least Arthur didn't see any pus, or redness. He made a note to be more mindful of Eames while they were out tomorrow.

"Infections need to sleep, too," Eames sighed, oscillating back and forth as Arthur touched him, barely keeping down a yawn. "But I guess if you insist. Is it at least healin' okay? It's a bit hard to see with the bandages and all."

Arthur grunted rather than verbalized responses to Eames' pointless murmurings. Infections need sleep, ha. But Arthur wasn't angered, or even bothered by the chatter, he just didn't have the energy to engage. "It looks like it," he said, because the last question was actually worth answering. He frowned though; last night Eames had flinched and twitched while Arthur washed, and the sharp sting should have had the man more alert. He looked up to Eames' face, watching for signs of pain, involuntary grimaces, anything. It could have been no more than paranoia, infection had been at the forefront of his mind recently. But if Eames didn't react, Arthur would not hesitate to find Yusuf. The earlier the infection was caught, the better Eames' chances.

"'M a bit dizzy," Eames stated. "糟糕, am I getting a cold?"

Like flipping a switch, Arthur went from barely functioning to alert and active. He needed to see Yusuf, if Eames was dizzy and the surrounding tissue was numb there was a problem. "I'll see about getting some decongestant," Arthur said, dropping the washcloth on the rim and straightening himself. He kept his voice neutral, he didn't want to cause any undue panic, but he also didn't want to redo the bandages before Yusuf had a look at the wound. "Sit tight," Arthur told him, calm, as he grabbed a lantern and left the tent. He tread the short distance to Yusuf's place quickly, giving three sharp knocks and outlining what he'd noticed when the doctor finally answered the door. He watched Yusuf grab his medical satchel and then lead the way back to the tent, holding the flap aside for Yusuf.

"Hello, Eames," Yusuf greeted, moving to his side while Arthur continued to observe, "Arthur tells me you think you're coming down with a cold, I'd like you to describe what symptoms you're experiencing." He pulled out a handheld reader, and Arthur was pleasantly surprised Yusuf had managed to get his hands on one. That was EMT grade equipment.

Arthur hoped he was wrong and that it wasn't the beginnings of an infection, because if it turned out it was due to letting sweat and grime accumulate or rendering the bandage so wet they were useless he wasn't sure he could forgive himself. And if he had to sit on Eames to get him to stay in the tent while he recovered, Arthur would. He understood the restlessness inherent with waiting to heal, and he could at least offer the one thing he had wanted back in the sterile hospital wing. A friend. He kept his body language to a minimum, remained a few steps back and affected only mild interest in what Yusuf diagnosed.

"Not to be rude but I would have wished never to see you in a professional manner again," Eames was saying. "I'm just a bit dizzy right now and it's hard to focus, but nothing hurts, except my head a little bit. If I'm sick it would explain how shitty I've been feeling for the past hour..."

"It's not so terrible, if you see me for a little bit more, if it guarantees you never have to see me again." The reader beeped ominously in Yusuf's hands and Eames gave it a forlorn look. "Now you aren't coming down with a cold, my friend. You seem to have developed an infection in your wound, here, perhaps from something in the wood... I don't know how you managed to disrupt a perfectly good healing process but it's not the end of the world. There's no way to get at it physically without reopening the wound and there is no need to unless it worsens. What you will need, however, are antibiotics to help out your immune system and to listen to me and to Arthur and do what we tell you to do. Which will include a lot of bed rest and no stress, I'm warning you now." He turned to Arthur. "I'll go get the antibiotics, if you could make sure he's comfortable that's really the most we can do at the moment. It's likely he'll get a fever but with enough rest it should blow over within a couple of days."

Arthur listened attentively, catching a glimpse of the reader for himself and thankful for the crash course he'd had while in the military. He was relieved to hear that his negligence had not been the cause, but it did leave him uneasy. If it hadn't been from the outside, that meant something inside had led to the infection and considering Yusuf's sloppy clean up when the stitches had been torn Arthur thought he had the source. Yusuf had fucked up. His features darkened, but he reigned it in for Eames' sake. "Good to know," Arthur said tightly. He watched Yusuf walk out, and then followed.

"Arthur-" Yusuf began, but he cut him off with cold and low.

"You let it happen, if you had cleaned his wound properly he'd be fine. You fuck up like that again and I will break every one of your fingers, twice." He was satisfied by the wide-eyed stare and turned and reentered the tent before Yusuf could offer a denial or rebuttal.

Arthur swiftly made his way back to Eames, lowering himself to his knees to the right of him. He dipped the washcloth into the now-tepid water and resumed cleaning, tamping down on the lingering anger and disgust. His movements remained gentle, but not as slow. He was more alert, his actions more proficient and sharp.

"If you scare him away, Arthur, he won't bring me medicine," Eames murmured.

"He'll bring you medicine," Arthur responded tersely, dipping the cloth into the water and dabbing at the last edge of the wound.

"I think... I think you're taking all of this a little bit too personally. Drivin' yourself mad is going to help very little and you're already taught as a string."

"I'm not," Arthur denied, his frustration bleeding through even as he tried to keep his tone level, "I expected more from a doctor, disinfecting the area is basic medical knowledge and lack of oversight is no excuse to cut corners on treatment. He fucked up, I want him to know that." He gave a final rinse and then set to to work on the back, wordlessly encouraging Eames to lean forward with a gentle nudge at the top of his spine.

"He's a chemist, Arthur, hardly a doctor. And I think he knows very well and will do the best he can." Eames leaned forward carefully, taking the opportunity to rest his forehead on Arthur's shoulder. 

Arthur frowned, he had not known that. however, it didn't change much of his opinion. Cleaning a wound was common sense. Still, Eames had a point, threatening the town's only "doctor" had not been his most well-thought out move. He let out a tired sigh, letting his shoulder relax when Eames put his head down. It was difficult to pretend that touching bothered him when he spent nights flush up against the man.

"And being threatened is hardly a conduit to being at your best. Like how it's hard to come up with the right answer, even if you know it, when put on the spot. And all the equipment he has is second rate at best besides that scanner..." Eames sighed lightly. "This is such a mess, I'm such a dead weight, how do you stand it?"

Arthur rubbed lightly in small, rhythmic circles with one hand, the other resting on a tiny sliver of free space on the chair. "It's fine," he said distantly. He'd carried dead weight once, dragged it several miles before he realized the man had died. Arthur preferred this.

"Using up all of my friend privileges pretty fast," Eames mumbled.

Arthur turned his head as much as he could when the flap was lifted and Yusuf half-stepped inside, seemingly recovered, though he didn't quite meet Arthur's eyes. He tossed the bottle, pills rattling around inside, onto the bed. "One a day, at the same time each day, and do not stop taking them until they are gone." Arthur nodded, as Yusuf continued, smiling a little, "Get some rest Eames." And then he was gone, flap swinging in his wake. Arthur resumed his careful work, falling quiet.

"Call us even, then," Arthur said, once he was certain Yusuf was gone as he was unwilling to admit weakness or vulnerability to anyone when it wasn't strictly necessary. And Eames had done considerably more for Arthur - and of his own volition rather than situational demands. Arthur finished cleaning the wound, and though a part of him was reluctant, he gently nudged Eames upright while he reached for the wrapping. "Almost done," he informed, trying to reassure.

Eames snorted lightly. "Keeping score are you? How does it pan out so far?"

Arthur narrowed his features, half in concentration as he began wrapping the white cloth bandages and half in response to the question. He had only said it as a consolation, which wasn't to say he didn't count each misstep and each lent hand - those he stored away, to examine and weigh as necessary. "It pans out evenly," he said dryly, choosing to ignore the first question and focus on the redundancy of the second. He had just stated as much. He tied off the cloth, satisfied that it was done tightly enough but without cutting off circulation. He straightened and moved to the bed to swipe the pills. "Do you want these now or in the morning?" He wasn't sure which option would be more convenient if the pills needed to be taken daily.

"I suppose I might as well take them now, not that they'll have any immediate effect I'm guessing."

Arthur unscrewed the cap and shook out one of the little round tablets, which he then passed to Eames. "I'll get you some water," he said, quickly crossing to where he'd dropped the rucksack and reaching in to retrieve the water bottle leftover from their trip out to Rook. He made his way back just as swiftly and he held out the last of the water for Eames to take once he had a free hand. Arthur made a note to himself to refill the bottle in the morning, or later in the night after Eames had fallen asleep if he wasn't needed to share the bed. He thought Eames might not want to while he was ill, but he hoped otherwise as all the aches and pains returned with a vengeance. Even if he couldn't fall asleep, laying down for a few hours would at least make tomorrow more bearable.

"Thanks." Eames swallowed the pills and he relocated himself with a grunt to the bed, leaving the water at the leg of the chair. "Please tell me you're relaxed enough to sleep, Arthur." Eames shifted over onto his side. "It's just a small complication to our plans, nothing too major and you need your rest."

"And if I'm not?" Arthur asked blandly, because if his restlessness was going to be a problem then he'd take the chair rather than subject Eames to it. But Eames mentioned him needing rest and not that it was irritating, not that Arthur was a problem and he was already shifting into their usual positions and Arthur wanted nothing more than to sink into bed beside him, looking at it with almost longing. Eames was right, it wasn't major, it had been caught early on and Yusuf had the antibiotics needed... Arthur still waited, because perhaps Eames would admit that it bothered him. He'd kept various partners awake, to their great annoyance, before he'd resorted to prescription medication. It wasn't unreasonable for Eames to want the bed to himself.

"Then I will find some way to work it out of you. It's hardly for my sake, I'm passing out talking right now." Eames patted the spot next to him. "I would like to imagine I'll be getting out of bed tomorrow but it seems unlikely which means you will need the rest far more than I. Come now, I'm not contagious and I don't have the energy to beg."

Arthur rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance even as he toed off his shoes and neatly slipped under the covers. He moved in closer, until his back was lightly pressed to Eames' chest and able to feel each steady rise and fall. "I'll find us a deck of cards tomorrow," Arthur said quietly, in case Eames was tired enough to drop off. He was still wound up, but his body was beginning to go lax, some of the soreness less pronounced. He stretched them out, small careful movements that wouldn't jostle Eames' shoulder, and the he nestled deeper in the bed, a yawn slipping out.

"Perfect," Eames smiled, the word sinking into the back of Arthur's neck.

Arthur let out a muted hum, feeling strangely content with Eames' proximity. But content was not enough. Arthur tried, he slowed his breathing, he closed his eyes, he counted sheep, but he couldn't find sleep. He regretted his dependency on medication as the minutes ticked into what felt like hours. He couldn't shake his worry over Eames anymore than he could shake his fear that a nightmare would lead to further injury. It was frustrating to want and need sleep and yet remain unable to obtain it. At least Eames seemed to be sleeping well, Arthur focused on that, listening and feeling each inhale and exhale. Eames was warm to the touch, only slightly, and Arthur worried that was the onset of the fever, but it just as easily could have been his own imagination.

But Eames begun to shift eventually, breaths coming shallow and short. Arthur rolled over, squinting in the dark to check on Eames. He carefully lifted his hand to Eames forehead and found it too warm - he should have gone for more water earlier. Arthur tapped into whatever energy he had left and eased himself off the bed, stripping away the blanket. "You need to stay cool," Arthur explained quietly, in case there was part of Eames lucid enough to understand, "I'm going to get some water." He let the blanket fall to the floor and then stepped into his shoes, making a vaguely disgusted face at the lack of of socks, before picking up the bottle and hefting up the pot, the water sloshed violently but most of it landed on him and not the hard ground. He headed out quickly, hoping that in his absence Eames wouldn't further deteriorate.

Arthur went directly to the kitchens setting down the water bottle and dumping the dirtied water into the sink. He caught the washcloth as it slipped out, and set to rinsing it out thoroughly. He let pot fill with water and then the bottle, and returned, this time more careful with the lukewarm water. He set it down beside the chair, the rag resting on the rim, and then leaned over Eames, whose gaze was more distant than Arthur liked. "Are you thirsty?" he asked, still keeping his voice low. Eames would certainly need fluids as the night went on, Arthur hoped the fever would break quickly. He brought his palm to Eames forehead, trying to determine if it had worsened.

Eames hummed instead of an answer, then tried to sit up. "'M sorry about being a pain," he said, again without answering the question. It seemed like it was a yes regardless. Arthur saw that Eames was having considerably more trouble lifting himself and immediately began stacking and folding the pillows behind Eames' head and shoulders with his free hand. Hopefully it would provide enough support, but if not there was also the thin blanket bundled messily on the ground. He held the water within Eames' reach again.

"That apology is more than three months overdue," Arthur said dryly, deliberately misinterpreting. It was hardly Eames' fault, and he certainly didn't seem to be enjoying himself. Arthur was glad the fever was on the milder side, provided it didn't worsen.

Eames settled into the pillows, sighing as at least some of the pressure was taken off his arm. "Hardly, you were no less a pain in my arse, all smarts and booze and temptation. Although I did bring it upon myself that time, I guess. Glad I did, though." Another sip and he coughed.

With his hands free, Arthur grabbed the blanket and wadded it further, carefully tucking it in with the pillows. He'd rather Eames didn't rely on his left arm for weight distribution: that way lay cramping and stiffness. "You are?" Arthur asked skeptically, because it was one thing to turn an issue into an advantage and make the best of a bad situation, it was another to be genuinely happy with how matters panned out. Eames would have saved himself considerable amounts of trouble had he avoided Arthur. Although perhaps in the midst of a fever was not the time to discuss regrets, and Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. Ever. Even if Eames maintained he was glad."Is that more comfortable?" Arthur asked in an effort to quickly change the subject.

"Funnily enough, yeah." Eames sighed leaning back as far as the compounded padding would support him. "It's fine," he allowed, bringing his left arm back down with the water. "Solid walls would make it better but what we don't have we don't have." He sighed noisily, carefully tilting his head backward so he could look straight forward, before turning to look at Arthur. "I thought rhetorical questions were my job anyway."

Arthur kept his face impassive, but the notion that Eames didn't regret meeting him rested uneasily. He couldn't quite believe it, nor could he determine why Eames would bother to lie about it, so for the time being he tabled it. "I'll refrain from such in the future," he said, tone layered with mild sarcasm. He bent down and picked up the cloth, folding it into one long strip just before brushing Eames' hair back and placing it on his forehead to soak up some of the sweat. Eames seemed mostly lucid, that was a good sign, but he was still too warm.

"Did you even get any sleep?" he asked, frowning slightly. "Should we not have let you nap back there? You know, Yusuf is good with sleep problems. You should ask him for help, if you can't sleep on your own."

Arthur drew back and took a seat in the chair, gaze growing distant before he stared down at his hands. Lying was useless, maybe if Eames had been less cognizant, but if he was aware enough to ask he was more than likely aware enough to ferret out the truth. "It hasn't been this bad in a long time," he admitted, flexing his fingers in idle distraction, "and I'm more concerned about what might happen if I have a nightmare." Short of flat out sedating him, there wasn't much even medication could do after being triggered. He'd had spells like this before, but when he'd lived on his own it meant a few nights of waking up violently and then waiting for the medication to pull him back under. Less of an option when sharing the bed with someone with a shoulder injury.

"Well, then we're in the same boat, aren't we? There's always whatever Yusuf's concocting that knocks out REM sleep. I just don't know exactly how much he's making and how long we'll be here. If you hit me it'll be a small sacrifice in exchange for getting at least half a good night's rest."

Arthur stretched out his neck, twisting until it cracked, as he considered. He knew he wasn't interested in whatever Yusuf was concocting, anything that eliminated REM sleep increased the likelihood of Night Terrors, and while these episodes had grown fewer in frequency and lost much of the intensity as time wore on Arthur had no guarantees. He'd torn open old wounds and laced in new ones, he wasn't sure adding an experimental drug was wise. He inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply, Eames was reducing his condition to simple terms, whether it was because he didn't understand the scope or because he was trying to mitigate Arthur's concerns, Arthur couldn't be certain. Considering Eames own struggles with sleep, the latter was more likely, but Arthur felt the need to explain regardless. Let Eames make an informed decision and perhaps drop the matter entirely. Arthur dropped his gaze back to his hands.

"While I was in the hospital, they had to paralyze one of my vocal cords to stop the screaming at night," he said without inflection, ignoring the swirl of fear and anger and desolation even the memory brought up. Waking up in a soundless scream each time he fell asleep. Crying out for Dom, for Mal, for anyone at all and finding no one. And he understood why it had been done, he couldn't keep the rest of the floor awake night after night, and keeping the cord paralyzed meant he didn't damage it. Arthur gave a small shake of his head and moved on, no use in dwelling on it. "And I wasn't joking, I broke a girl's nose. Think you can sleep through that?"

"Time passes, wounds heal, breaking someone's nose isn't screaming your voice out. The several times you have slept it was all fine, so it's not guaranteed that you'll have a nightmare at all. And we won't know until we try." Eames sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "All I can say is that it will be a far lesser evil if you delay my healing for a little instead of actually going insane because of lack of sleep. Of course some, including myself, can argue that I can't make an educated decision with a fever but it's what I feel right now that I'm telling you. It's your choice at the end of the night." He took another drink.

"Nor can I stay awake for much longer to continue this argument with you. And if it doesn't work you can grab the second mattress from the ship when you doubtlessly go there without me tomorrow. There's at least more wiring to be done unless you can find someone with a welder to repair the hull..."

Eames had a fever and a shoulder injury and he was still worried about Arthur getting rest. Arthur glanced up, finding the man's eyes still closed and the barest ghost of a smile graced his features. "Someone has to keep an eye on you," Arthur said to correct the assumption that he wouldn't stay, but he went on to add, "unless you would prefer Ariadne," which was only partially sarcastic.

There wasn't room for him on the bed, not unless he planned on laying on top of Eames, which wouldn't do either his shoulders or his fever any favors. He'd wait it out, if Eames fell asleep without him he would take his chances in the chair, but if Eames didn't he'd give sharing the bed another shot. Already he could feel exhaustion seeping into his bones, something had settled and Arthur lacked both the energy and the will to explore what it might have been and ruin it.

"That would make me feel like a cradle robber, so no." Eames shuffled over, pushing the conglomeration of pillows to the side, tugging one out. "So if you want to keep an eye on me, you need your rest. It's much easier to get well when those around you are paragons of health, not jittery insomniacs."

Arthur dragged himself up and out of the chair and into the bed, disentangling the mess of pillow and blanket. He hadn't even considered Ariadne curling up with Eames, only that she would watch over him the next day, but he let the comment go. He had no desire to explain his assumption that he would be the one to share bedspace, and he lacked the energy as well. He slid in fully beside Eames, and yawned as his body sagged. Arthur struggled to remain half-awake until he thought Eames had dropped off, fighting off sleep until it became impossible and then sinking into it deeply.

There were no dreams, no haunted memories, he slept soundly while Eames remained largely still and quiet. Arthur's eyes cracked open when Eames shuffled up to grab something, between the movement and the soft noises Arthur found himself on the precipice of wakefulness and sleeping. He blinked slowly at Eames, selfishly craving more sleep but willing to push past it if Eames needed something. "You good?" he slurred, starting to shift and push himself up on heavy and uncooperative limbs.

"All is well," Eames shushed and then there were knuckles running down his neck.

"Mmm," Arthur hummed, craning his neck in unconscious encouragement before falling the short distance to the bed and shifting until he was comfortable again. If Eames said it was fine it absolutely was. A matter of seconds were all he needed and he was back under, resting fitfully and catching up with his body's demands at last.

There was a point where Arthur realized that Yusuf had some back in, but Yusuf was safe so he shut his eyes again. Arthur managed another half an hour, but then he was there again. On the console room floor, the stench of blood in the air, the taste in his mouth. It's warm and wet on his fingers, spilling over his hands. Mal shot him, without hesitation, without remorse. She just stared with cold eyes, eyes that were still on him as she knelt beside Renate's body. "The weak must be culled," she said, and dug the knife in, slowly pulling it along, straight through the petty officer's gut and the acrid smell intensified until Arthur's stomach was roiling--

Arthur instinctively moved back, colliding with Eames' chest as he sucked in a deep breath and buried his face into the pillow, breathing in the scent of fabric and Eames. _Eames_. Shit. Arthur rolled over and away as quickly as he could, his eyes raking over Eames; trying to assess what he may have done.

"Good morning to you, too, darling." Eames squinted at him as he rubbed the spot where Arthur struck him, apparently just in the center of his forehead, smiling slightly. Ah, the back of Arthur's head hurt too, now... "You're going to have to try harder next time if you'd like to make a dent."

Arthur let out a breath, Eames was clearly fine. He gathered his composure, tamping down from wired to simply aware. "Your skull was thicker than anticipated," he said, because if Eames could joke about it then so could he. He was surprised that he felt more at ease for it; his heart rate approaching its normal pace. "I told you this would happen," he said instead of 'sorry' which was closer to what he was currently feeling.

"Considering you spent the whole night without so much as a peep, I would count the experiment a success." Eames scooted a little closer to the center, rescuing a water bottle from it's semisquished fate between them, popping the dents back and placing it over his forehead again. "Are you alright now though?"

"Yeah," Arthur answered, counting it close enough. If he could function, he was well, as far he was concerned. It wasn't worth discussing, Eames knew the gist and wouldn't want to hear it. He forced himself out of bed, he had slept through the night and while he had no plans to leave Eames for the day, he did still need to speak with Morena. The lingering unease was back, but Arthur had both made a promise to meet with her about his next task and because he had to know that his concerns were unfounded - or entirely valid.

"I said I'd meet Morena this morning, will you be all right?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed to put on a pair of socks and then slip on his shoes. He didn't wait for an answer before attempting to take the bottle which he intended to refill before he left. Not that Eames was incapable of lifting himself out of bed and doing it on his own, but it would be more efficient if Arthur did it. He was the one already out of bed.

"I'll be fine, not really up for attempting to walk somewhere. Just take everything she says with a grain of salt, yadda yadda, the usual."

Arthur knelt down, submerging the bottle as best he could while keeping his hand out of it. If he could keep the water clean, it would save him from constantly leaving the tent to refill the one water bottle they had. He capped it and set it down close to bed so that Eames could lean over and grab it at his leisure. "Shouldn't take long," he said as he headed out. He made his way to Morena's home quickly, catching sight of the line forming and making a mental note to snag them both some breakfast on his way back, after he filled Ariadne in on the change of plans.

He knocked lightly on the door with the back of his hand, he hadn't seen Morena in the line so he assumed she was still inside. If not, he'd make another pass around the cafeteria. A small part of him hoped he didn't come across her, but he needed to be certain of Eames. The sooner the better so he might cut his losses. Of course, it could be nothing, or it could be information he'd have to earn.

"Ah, good morning, Arthur," Morena opened the door, stepping away so he could come in. "Did you have a good night's rest? And how is Eames?"

Arthur slipped in neatly, "I did," he answered which wasn't precisely a lie, but he had a feeling she expected more of an answer than that. "And Eames is asleep," he continued, again not entirely a lie, but not forthcoming either. He doubted Eames would have enjoyed her knowing he was ill, and between last night and the this morning some of their friendship had solidified, enough that while he wanted answers he was still protective of Eames and his privacy. He decided to try his hand at directing the conversation and steer them toward business. "You mentioned he knew the same tricks you do, what tricks?" he asked, because it was by far the more important topic. He'd worried about continued possession of the pad later, but if it was something too time consuming or arduous he might forfeit the device until Eames recovered.

"Psychology, mostly, body language, manipulating emotions. If he displays proficiency in music and fencing or languages I wouldn't be rightly surprised. Of course, those are the hallmarks of training in the Companion's Guild, which is why I'm curious as to where he's from, not that it would make much of a difference."

Arthur let the information parse, searching to find contradictions that he could be certain of, he had little more to go on than childhood stories and then the war, followed by Eames admission of falling in with criminals worse than himself before his mother took a turn for the worst. But he didn't have more than Eames word, and he didn't have a concrete timeline. "How long would the training take?" he asked, for the moment holding off on what it might mean if Eames were a Companion, or had been one. It would be a mistake to leap on to Morena's conclusion without a shred of evidence; moving on faulty information was in many way worse than moving on no information.

"It would be a continuation of schooling after the elementary, proceeding in the usual time frame as normal education would. It could have been later than that, but that is the typical standard. He's very adept at making friends, as far as I can see, but it's hard to gauge how candid he is because he resists me completely. A Companion is taught to stay emotionally detached from clientele, which, in this case, would be devastating should he be completely misleading us as to his intentions. If it's a false hope that Ariadne would be able to see her parents again, it will break the girl's heart."

It was a possibility, then. Eames hadn't joined the Independents until he was nineteen - Arthur had latched onto that information the same as he had with all the other potentially pertinent details that night of too much drinking and too little thought. He could check later about what Guilds were on Hera, if any. "Is there a way to tell if he's emotionally distant? Some behavior or tick," Arthur asked. He knew Eames wouldn't leave these people behind, especially not Ariadne, even if she had to find another ride to Hera specifically. The emotional detachment did concern him, because the niggling fear that their friendship was no more than a ruse had never been entirely relieved.

"Not if he is well trained. Of course, in a business transaction it would be showing a client the door no matter how many offers of marriage and the like one was offered, in real life it would be showing someone the door after they have ceased being useful. You would have to judge for yourself, although I am not quite certain we're talking about a common well being anymore."

Arthur hardened his features, his stance growing rigid. Defensive. He didn't need to ask if Eames was well trained, if he could evade someone who had been playing the game for at least twenty years more. Eames had a history, even if he had aided his friend by leaving him somewhere and setting up a new life. He could have gone back for him. And Arthur hadn't missed the fact that they had once been friends, and then Eames claimed he'd not thought of them as friends. Either the story had changed for Arthur's sake, or Eames had at some point stopped considering the man useful. Arthur liked neither option, he liked it even less that he had shown a softer side of himself, had let himself trust... The evidence was mounting, but he didn't have all of it. "Is Companion training available on Hera?" Of course, the more he thought about it, the more he realized the Companion training didn't matter, though it slotted in neatly given his experiences with Eames. He rolled his shoulder, uncomfortable and angry with how close he'd come to sleeping with him. But where Eames picked up the skills wasn't the part that had Arthur concerned, it was the fact that Eames had deemed him useful for a time and could be setting him up for a fall, just like the "friend" before. He clenched his jaw. Fuck no. Eames wasn't going to lure him into this friendship and then drop him like he was a mistake. Arthur was done with that.

"Yes, it is a rich enough planet to sustain a House. It's not exactly the best, though, so far removed from the Core..." Morena frowned. She seemed taken aback by his anger. "There's no need to be distressed by it," she said, "I am having my doubts as to whether I am right or not, if you say he is from Hera."

He dialed back, forcing down the well of previously unaddressed anger. Anger at Eames, anger at the Alliance, anger at Dom. He could see the patterns on the wall, all he was to people like them was a fucking tool, and not worth an ounce more than his usefulness. He inhaled deeply, still simmering under the surface, but considerably more in control. He'd have to be if he saw Eames again, but he began to revisit that idea, spending the day with Eames no longer held anything remotely like appeal. Not until Arthur was in full control of himself, and possibly not even then. "Thank you," he said in regards to her cooperation, and he moved on to the next point of interest. "And about continued use of your tablet..."

"If you keep all that anger inside of you, you're going to suffer for it," Morena said gently, sighing. "I am leaving for the market with several others today and it's a multiple day ordeal. If you could please water the garden, not more than one watering pot per row per day. And you can use the pad until I come back."

Arthur made no acknowledgement to her first comment, suffering wasn't new and he didn't know what else to do with the anger. He had every right to do what he wanted with his emotions, including not express them. She had asked him not to be distressed, he was trying not to be. He nodded in the affirmative, anxious to leave and tell Ariadne that she would be the one watching over Eames while he went out to the scrapyard and then the ship. He might spend the night there, come back in the morning for more provisions and to water Morena's plants but that would be it. If Eames couldn't sleep or tore his stitches Arthur would not care. Arthur's concern was reserved for himself now. "Was there anything else?" he asked, his tone absent.

"No, that will be all." Morena frowned further. "I will inform Eames that he is to take responsibility if you suffer a psychological break that leads me to believe you weren't really framed."

Arthur let himself be guided out the door, his armor firmly in place until Morena spoke up again. He wasn't even sure what that meant, and he couldn't ask for clarification with the door shut before he'd even managed to turn around. "You don't say a fucking word to him, about any of this," Arthur said through the door, because he wasn't entirely sure what she meant, but he wasn't going to have her lay everything at Eames' feet. He almost said more, but then he fought back the instinct. So what? If Eames was playing him, he wouldn't care, and Arthur was well beyond caring about anything other than fixing the ship. If this was it and he couldn't hold together, so fucking what? He had nothing left as it was. He walked away, affixing his armor again. He spotted Ariadne in line, and calmly explained that Eames had taken ill last night and that he needed to be watched while Arthur carried on with the repairs. She didn't even protest, she simply grabbed some extra bowls of rice and helped bring them back to the tent. Arthur raised the flap for her, watching her duck inside before following suit. He was only there to grab the pad, and if he could avoid talking, or even looking at Eames he would.

\---

Eames almost sat up, making it quickly to about forty five degrees off the bed before the dizziness overtook him again and he flopped back down, blinking in surprise when it was Ariadne that materialized instead of Arthur. Ah, he was following afet. He had to do this carefully it seemed, not just hoist himself up by his abdominals. "Good morning, doll," he smiled, already brighter that he wasn't the only one in the room. "Bringing sustenance, as well, how perfect." He swung his legs off the bed first, carefully lifting his head and torso up with his left arm. "Heading out, then?" He took the bowl from Ariadne, balancing it on his knee. She had taken a seat but Arthur moved straight to the pile of things, withdrawing the pad in the most business like manner imaginable. It clicked. "You aren't going alone, are you, what are you going to do there by yourself?" It was dangerous, firstly, and secondly there were more important things to get done than wiring, things that needed at least two people and some power tools.

"A more detailed catalog of repairs," Arthur said matter-of-factly before sweeping out of the room without so much as a passing glance.

"He's not okay is he, did something happen?" Ariadne asked, eyes still on the swinging flap.

"Not that I know of..." Eames' first instinct was to follow him, but he could hardly do that in his current state and he'd promised not to try and take any walks. It was probably something Morena had said to him, that 放屁賤貨. And he couldn't even do anything about it. "Fuck," he said eloquently instead, poking his chopsticks stormily into his rice. His skin prickled just considering what she could have told him, and that Arthur even believed her stung even more. "Gods am I going to give Morena a piece of it next time I see her, maybe then she'll lay off me and therefore Arthur." Except he could barely even eat the bland rice he was given, doubling over with a groan as his stomach attempted a short lived revolt. Yusuf had said something about stress...

"I'm sure she'd explain, she wouldn't let Arthur leave like that if he's a danger to himself-" Ariadne started before she was hovering over him in alarm.

"I'm alright," he breathed, straightening and breathing in as deeply as he could. "Fuck fevers." If he couldn't even eat what good was he to anyone? Just taking up space and other's precious time. "He's always a danger to himself because he won't let anything out. You saw it yourself." Be it anyone else they would have burst into anger or tears that they were falsely accused. Arthur had stayed silent and afraid, only breaking when it was all but thrown in his face. Hopefully it was nothing as dire as that but... "You don't have to stay with me. I'd bet you anything Arthur forgot to pack a lunch anyway. First good night's sleep and this is how he acts, maybe he'd better as a sleep deprived crazy person."

"I swear the two of you are the most ridiculous people I've met," Ariadne complained, sitting back down. "It's like his parents didn't teach him anything about being an emotionally mature adult, and, like, don't you go through therapy after war? Learn how to talk about stuff?"

"We aren't ridiculous, we are pitiful and confused." He let the parent comment pass by in silence, answering the other questions instead, nibbling on his rice as best he could. "I wouldn't know how well Alliance handles their operatives but if he was anything like he is now he probably refused any sort of treatment out of some sort of loyalty, or from trying to repress it. I'm also fairly certain the whole thing was mostly hushed, so even if he hadn't refused aid, a psychologist who knew exactly what had happened would probably be a liability." Eames huffed, paying as much attention as he could to their conversation instead of the insurmountable problem that was his rice. At the very least he wasn't using up resources. "I'll finish this later."

Ariadne thought it over, her chewing slowing some. "Why do you think it was hushed? I mean, why make up that an Independent soldier or spy snuck on board if it was actually," she paused to remember the name, "Mal?"

"An Alliance officer going insane and killing a whole crew of her own? Why wouldn't that be hushed? Makes them look desperate and weak at least, ruthless and unjust at worst. Not exactly the code the Alliance wanted to live by, no matter where the evidence pointed." He put the bowl down, rubbing his eyes trying to gain clarity. It wasn't working as well as he would like.

"Do you want me to go get Morena?"

"And then what? She mows me over because I can hardly lift a finger to defend myself?" Eames sighed, trying to figure out what he could do, most of it which amounted to a big fat zero because of his stupid fever and his stupid shoulder, doing a better job than ball and chain ever could. This was literally impossible.

"I guess," Ariadne agreed, scraping together the last few bites of rice and then trying to reassure him with a smile. "I'll bring him back home in one piece, and before curfew. I promise," she joked.

"Please do," he sighed, looking down and not joking at all. Between feeling his own uselessness and his worry for Arthur, he couldn't force himself to look at a brighter side. Eames perked up, alerted by the rustling of the tent flap again, hoping it was Arthur who had forgotten something but it was Morena instead. His expression darkened almost instantly and she must have realized something because she looked vaguely uncomfortable, lacing her fingers together in front of her. "What in the world did you tell Arthur?" he demanded, a little less forceful than he would like to be, ending the sentence with a limbless sway, his head swimming as he tried to build up something even approximating the amount of anger he should be feeling.

"I told him my thoughts on you, after he asked." Morena smiled, the expression strained. "I explained that a Companion is trained to remain unattached to their clients, and it is an ability that carries over even if the profession is abandoned, except the transactions are no longer about monetary gain, but usefulness. What connections he drew from that, the responsibility falls to you." She did sound particularly confident in the thought though.

Ariadne gasped, which felt fitting although Eames couldn't pinpoint why quite yet.

Maybe it was the fever getting to him after all, but he wasn't sure how any of this related to anything at all. "Alright, so he's mad at you, what do I have to do with it?" If there was some connection, he wasn't seeing it, except the vague notion that she'd played Arthur's trust issues again, but it wasn't as if he had been marrying Arthur to the idea that Morena was anything but dangerous. He was definitely missing something. "I don't see how any of that has anything to do with anything that's going on. You told-" Eames blinked owlishly, the thought connecting. She'd told Arthur something about him and now she was saying something about Companions which meant... "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." He was in no way well enough to deal with this, pressing his hands to his eyes again. "Are you serious, of all of the things your morbid imagination could come up with it was what I'm a former Companion?" He couldn't even stop the small squeak from entering his voice, punctuating the sentence with a wheeze. "And Arthur believed you, I don't know if I should laugh or cry." He settled of trying to stop the room from spinning. Gods, this had gotten far and wide out of hand. It wasn't the Companion thing that was an issue, most like, but the fact that Eames was manipulating him into some sort of friendship, it was actually far, far too early for this.

Morena just smiled tightly again. "He seemed to, and I do apologize for the mistake, though I cannot say why he became so incensed. Perhaps one of you could explain?"

"Because," Eames pursed his lips, wondering not for the first time if he could just put his fever on pause for a little. He couldn't though and it just made it all worse. "Would agent and thief ring any bells? He's only now started to trust me and now he probably thinks I'm playing him," he said, starting the sentence over. It was the most common knowledge basis of mistrust he could think of, and he could name many more besides. After all they'd gotten through Eames still hadn't managed to erase the what seemed like truly deep seated doubt in Arthur, no matter how hard he tried. And he was actually out of options. If coming completely clean, as clean as he could, anyway, didn't work, then what would? At the very least he had stopped himself from falling head over heels, but he couldn't be certain of that, either, not with the way he wanted everything about Arthur, from his annoyance, to his smiles to the way he managed to look neatly pressed in oversized shirts and with his floppy hair. 羔羊中的孤羊, this needed to stop. He was just feverish, that was all. "I'm sure it'll be fine." He was sure of no such thing. "He needs some time and you'll go check on him, right, Ari?" He looked over enough to see her nod and turned back to Morena. "Just don't try to insinuate things like that ever again, especially when I am not physically able to do anything about it." What was supposed to be stern came out sounding more like a plea. "I'm hoping he won't hurt himself in his distraction, but at least he said he was only going to catalogue things, not lift heavy objects that could potentially flatten him." And that was really quite enough talking for maybe even the week.

Morena raised an eyebrow in mild skepticism. "Before I make such a promise, what is your relationship with Arthur, precisely and what would you like it to be?"

"It is a strained friendship so far and I would like for it not to fall apart and there to be no more meddling, thank you," he dodged, grimacing. Eames wasn't about to go on a feverish ramble, he had that much dignity left. "That's all I ask, since he doesn't trust me, not you, and I will be the one who will have to make him believe me." And that just hurt. He couldn't even make himself stay angry at her, because it was just bound to happen at some point in time, and he couldn't just go and blame her for it, although he would dearly like to say a few choice words about her and her if former profession. So at least he was still angry, that much was clear, but now he was also exhausted, enough to be considering passing out just to avoid talking to Morena further. "Now if you're done, you're quite welcome to leave."

Morena just tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. At least she was visibly perplexed. "I'll return in a few days, do let me know how things fare in my absence. And should you need my 'meddling' after all, the offer is there. Please know my intention was not to cause a rift, Arthur was a much -" she paused to find the right word, "steadier young man last night." She ducked out without waiting for a response.

"Well, that's a bit not good," Ariadne said. "And, uh, did you want me to try talking to him?" She ducked her head a bit, probably just now realizing how meddling was not helping the situation.

"Just make sure he's alright and at least somewhat fed, that's all I ask," Eames breathed out, slowly deflating as Morena left, rubbing his forehead again before carefully ducking down to grab the water bottle. Every little bit of energy he had was drained out of him now and he drank slowly from the bottle, hoping it wouldn't just upset his stomach further. It cooled him instead and he hoped his fever hadn't gotten worse after all of this. "And it's only the morning, 我的天阿..." He was already exhausted and he hadn't actually stood up from the bed. "I'm going to try and sleep," not like he had any other choice at the moment, so he swung his legs back onto the bed, carefully settling on his stomach. Neither was he going to ask her to stay because while his nightmare was perfectly plausible, he didn't want to keep her from doing what she wanted.

\----

Arthur had eaten quickly, the rice hardly in his mouth long enough to notice it was still entirely without flavor. Then he'd set to work on watering Morena's plants with the weathered, though otherwise well-maintained, watering can. It was a considerably smaller task than an evening's worth of dishes, the memory of which Arthur buried by focusing on the logistics of sequestering himself in Rook. He'd need to gather food, which he doubted would please the town, and keeping one of the transports out in the woods wasn't something they would be terribly keen on either. He frowned as he realized he'd have to discuss this, and the only person he could go to for resources was Ariadne - or Yusuf, but Ariadne was the better choice. He finished watering the last of the flowers, leaving the pad were he'd tucked it out of sight, and heading back for the tent. He lifted the flap and nearly walked into Ariadne, his eyes darting between her and Eames laying face down. He couldn't be certain if the man was asleep or not. His features narrowed, and he opened his mouth to sternly ask why she was leaving, but he closed it as he remembered he didn't care what happened to Eames. She shooed him out and followed.

"I'd have thought you took off already," she said, admonishing him and planted her hands on her waist as soon as they were out of earshot. "Is it too much to assume you came to talk to Eames of your own volition? He just got done all but yelling at Morena, I shudder to think what he would have done without a fever, and I think he went to sleep."

Arthur's lips thinned into a stern line. "I don't see what there is to talk about," he said, voice quiet, just in case. He did not want to deal with whatever Morena had told them. Not with Ariadne and certainly not with Eames. He jumped to what he had originally come to say. "I wanted to ask about supplies for a day trip, and if you would be willing to let me set up a mattress in your home." The logistics of him staying on Rook weren't feasible, especially not if he had to come back each morning to water Morena's plants. It would be easier to room with someone in town, and Ariadne was the only person that might have been willing.

"And what's wrong with the med tent?" Ariadne pursed her lips, frowning. "Is it drafty, is there not enough room? I think that's definitely at least one thing you should talk about with Eames, not just scurry off with no warning or explanation. Doesn't he need you to sleep? Or now that you're afraid of him we forget about that too?"

"No, Ariadne, he doesn't need me, he needs a warm body. Give him some time and he'll have someone else there," Arthur said, cold, using his height to look down imperiously at her. "He has a history of leaving people behind, I'm not going to be another, that's not fear. It's prudence, try to remember the difference." And before he was fine with being used, as a sleep aid, as an extra set of hands, but the fact that Eames tried to push him into a friendship for - for more. Arthur had been exhausted last night and made a bad call, now he was remedying his mistake.

"So that's it, you're never going to talk to him again and better yet you're offering me up as first sacrifice? Heck, I might not have made it to college but even I have enough brains to know you're not being prudent, you're being cruel. And since you clearly care, you're deciding to just dump the poor guy while he has a fever so he can't even do anything about it, without ever talking about it, just disappearing into the ether? That's not how things work, Arthur, and if you want to dump Eames, fine, you just have to tell that to his face." She pointed her finger for emphasis, poking Arthur in the sternum.

"Fine," Arthur said, rising to her challenge. He'd meant to let it peter out on it's own, Eames was smart enough to pick up on it, but if Ariadne wanted him to say it to Eames face he would. He knocked her hand away and swiftly stepped inside the tent then made his way to the bed, waiting for Eames to show signs of being alert, and for Ariadne to enter. She pushed him to this, he wondered if she'd still consider it a kindness.

"Not now- Arthur!" She ran in behind him, stopping short near the entrance. "Beat him while he's down, why don't you," he could hear her mumble under her breath as Eames rolled over onto his side, waking.

Smiling. "Arthur?"

The words caught in his throat. Eames just woke up and smiled at him. Just smiled, and how could he fake that, as sick and tired as he was, and how the hell was it still so fucking radiant? Arthur tried looking away, but his gaze dropped back to Eames anyway, and he knew he couldn't do it. Not with Eames in that state and while he had only parts and pieces of information and it didn't help that he was torn between darting for the exit and drawing Eames in arms and holding him.

"What's wrong?" The smile was gone now.

Arthur lifted his eyes toward the top of their tent again, because looking at Eames knotted his heart, and he needed to be objective. "Why..." his voice came out wrong so he cleared his throat and tried again, "Why didn't you go back for your mechanic, once it was safe?"

He had ignored Eames question, not ready to explain himself. He needed to know everything before he made his move, he should have thought this through more carefully instead of letting his apparently crippling fear that Eames hadn't meant a word he said to Arthur, that all of his coaxing and concern and his persistent presence was completely disingenuous. He needed the whole story about why Eames left a man behind, and he needed to know he was different. That they had a real shot, that Eames wasn't just using him to waste time.

Eames sighed and looked away, processing the question. "Because safe was in a week and by then, he'd called and said he didn't want to work like that anymore. He found something menial but legal in the town I dropped him in, something like hired muscle for a local bar and he was content with it. I might have gotten angry enough at him to change the story so I was the one who made the decision. There was no one around to hear it or call me on it, so I believed it myself." Eames sighed heavily and Arthur could feel a knuckle run over the outside seam of his pant leg. "Sometimes I believe my own lies, too, you know, it's not always just a one way influence. But if you're asking about you and me, I do mean everything I said. Probably all the stuff I said when I was out of my mind, too, as I am now. Especially that, actually, completely unfiltered thought."

Arthur stilled Eames' hand with his own, holding it loosely, because this was tenuous enough without the oddly soothing gesture threatening to reign him in. He wanted to believe it, or a part of him did, but a larger part of him was lost and worried that Eames was reinventing the story and tailoring it to what he needed to hear. He almost said as much, until he remembered the Eames that had been blissed out on painkillers, and Arthur could remember that same uncomplicated smile. One that said Eames was happy just to see him, and stripping everything else away, all the lies, all the secrets, all the issues, Eames liked seeing him. He lowered himself onto his knees, a little closer to eye-level so he could look Eames properly in the face. He kept his hand wrapped around Eames' though, distantly enjoying the mix of soft and calloused skin. "You were wrong though, I'm -" he smiled a little bitter, "obviously not a good friend. I'm," he paused again, because he had never been good with admitting his failings to other people, even when it was obvious. "I'm a coward, Eames."

"So am I. And so is everyone in their own sense of the word. But you're selling yourself short if you really believe that's all there is to you." Eames sighed again, stroking his finger across Arthur's pulse gently. "Here you are talking to me, aren't you, like I asked, although I'm assuming Ariadne had a hand in that. Just a bunch of meddlers, the lot of them." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Not to mention I don't see why you say you're no good as a friend. What about last night, then, didn't you have fun besting me? And I think you remember how happy it made me. I'm afraid the only people to judge your quality as a friend are those around you, wouldn't you say? Now if you think I am a terrible person you don't want to be around, that's another thing, but I do really think you're great."

"So you admit I won," Arthur said with feigned formality, trying for a touch of levity and a break from hastily processing what Eames said and attempting to either dismantle or agree completely. No good would come from diving in or searching for holes, if they were going to do this, Arthur needed to ease himself into the relationship and see where they fell. But he was going to try, no more false starts. Because last night had been ridiculous and immature, but he'd felt... happy. And even if he had lost, he'd still have enjoyed himself, and seeing Eames every bit as pleased and competitive, sharing that feeling... Well. It had been a very long time, and he couldn't picture doing anything like that back on Ariel.

"If it makes you feel better," Eames grinned, trying and failing to keep his eyes open again, settling for a closed eyed smile. "Best two out of three though. Bet you can't manage that if I don't trip and fall on my face again. Now if you're quite done running around, I think you've wasted a whole morning which both you and Ariadne could have spent making repairs instead of whatever else it was you were up to. Rook won't fix herself, you know, and I apparently have an appointment in dreamland." He squeezed Arthur's hand once more before loosening his grip for Arthur to let go if he wanted to. "And while you're there you should grab my razor, before I really start looking like an Earth-That-Was caveman."

Arthur couldn't help but smile back, even if Eames couldn't see it. He also couldn't say he had any strong desire to leave now, his muscles were still a bit sore and he wasn't so certain having no one watch over him while he was still weak and feverish was in Eames' best interest. And perhaps it was largely based on his own experiences, but he knew waking up alone, scared and in pain, and unable to do anything was miserable. Eames may not have been that bad, but the fever could worsen and nightmares were still a possibility Arthur didn't want to come across paranoid, so he kept his tone casual, open to whatever Eames decided, "Will you be able to sleep all right?" Arthur figured he could set to work on making use of the pad, discovering any untapped resources available on the Cortex while Eames slept. Ariadne might have been willing to gather some supplies. He wasn't looking forward to shaving without a mirror, but at least his facial hair grew slowly.

"I won't know until I try," Eames murmured, "but if you want you can stay. 'M not kicking you out or anything."

"Is everything alright?" Arthur turned to see Ariadne peeking back into the tent. She must have stepped out. He gently lowered Eames' hand, shifted his gaze and straightened as he moved away from the bed to speak more privately with Ariadne. She moved as he slipped out into the sunlight.

"Yeah," he answered, fighting off embarrassment stemming from several sources. "I could still use a favor though."

"Yeah, sure, what is it?" she asked, crossing her arms but not making an issue out of his change in opinion.

"Some razors would be good, if there aren't any in town there should be some onboard Rook," he said and then considered what else they might need, they had clothing and most other toiletries, but Arthur so rarely had to shave he'd overlooked it in his exhaustion, "and a deck of cards." Eames would probably be lethargic during much of his recovery, but eventually sleep would lose its appeal, and reading would grow stale. And Arthur's tendency to gather and hoard resources was resurging, even if the cards weren't crucial to their survival he would rather have them than want them. He'd fetch the pad himself, once Ariadne agreed and told him whether or not she needed the access codes to Rook.

"Yeah, I can probably do that. I'll need the access code though, and if you know where that stuff is...?"

Since her heading out to Rook was now certain, Arthur reevaluated and made a few additional requests after he rattled off the code. He asked her to grab some more washcloths and books, and then to bring anything Morena might be willing to exchange the pad for, perhaps Eames had been right and avoiding her was the smarter course of action. The console room would probably have the most of it. Ariadne seemed satisfied and took off, Arthur tracked her progress for a moment and then hurried to fetch the pad.

Eames was asleep and Arthur took up residence in the chair, beginning to experiment with what access to the Cortex he had. A surprising amount, actually, which Arthur found convenient, if strange. There were seemingly no restrictions in what he was allowed to see, nothing was blocked, the channels available to him on Ariel were available to him here. What he couldn't do, however, was send any form of communication. No IMs, no wave, no uploads, no email. He would have said no output at all, but searches were functional, passwords were accepted. It wasn't something he had ever come across, but he made the most of the unexpected advantages and pitfalls.

His accounts were frozen, as expected, he dug a little deeper and found that Davis had been the one to sign the order, and he was the lead investigator, but the case had been assigned by Bai - top brass. He'd known clearing his name was unlikely, and he hadn't pinned his hopes on it, but to have it actualized... That was another matter entirely. He read through the file, forcing himself through Dysart's new testimony until he had to stop. Arthur glanced up at Eames, shifting and twitching in his sleep. He was still sweating, too, and Arthur found the cloth, nearly lost in the folds of the blanket still balled up at the head of the bed, and proceeded to pour water on it before gently wiping Eames' forehead. Arthur folded it neatly, and then draped it across his brow. Eames seemed to settle at that, and Arthur couldn't be certain if the nightmare had run its course, or if the moisture had helped, but he was glad to see Eames still and peaceful.

The process repeated a handful of times until Ariadne returned, and he set the pad down to help her bring in and sort out all that she had retrieved, toting a pile of books and towels, the music box sitting imperiously on the pile. She had managed to find a straight razor in the console room. The towels and razor he put beside the clothes, and the books with the ones he'd brought earlier. The music box he set on the small table, where he'd moved the unfinished rice. He nodded his head in agreement when she made a series of motions that he interpreted as something about bringing lunch. He thought should try to rouse Eames as well, at the very least the man needed to drink. "Eames," he said quietly, assuming that if he remained asleep he needed the rest.

Eames stirred, waking with a sharp breath and propped himself up slowly on his left elbow. "How long was that?" he asked, looking at the pile of things.

"A few hours," Arthur answered, he'd give the more specific answer if asked, but he doubted Eames would care that it had been exactly four hours and twenty-seven minutes since Arthur had taken a seat and began using the pad. He stood up and began stacking the pillows and blankets as he had before, trying to lend Eames as much support as he could without a headboard or wall. "You should drink some," Arthur said and picked up the water bottle, which he then handed to Eames. "Ariadne is getting lunch, think you can stomach some food?" He wasn't sure if he should broach the topic of what had bothered Eames while he slept or if he should act as a distraction, but the latter seemed the safer option and the one he was more comfortable with. He'd never discussed his own dreams, he wouldn't have known what to ask.

Eames took the water gladly, uncapping and drinking at least half in one fell swoop. "I can try," he answered, eyes falling on the bowl of unfinished rice Ariadne must have brought him earlier, "although I make no promises. Did you get anywhere with your research?"

Arthur lifted the pad and sat back down, sensing he wasn't needed at the moment. "Nothing particularly useful," he said, "confirmation of what I already knew." He kept the details to himself. He wasn't interested in trying to discuss the ramifications or the information the Alliance had collected on him. Everything from his physio and psychological evaluations to his personal possessions laid bare if someone knew where to look. Deeply unsettling to be on this side of the investigation process, especially when his entire life had been so well-documented. "Did you sleep alright?" Arthur asked, because Eames still didn't look rested, but that may have only been the fever. It seemed a safe question, a litmus test of sorts, one Eames could expand on however he chose. Though perhaps Arthur should have waited, Ariadne could return at any moment, though they may have had some time. He hadn't checked how long the line was.

Eames frowned, tucking his legs under him, rocking carefully to find his balance. "You mean the nightmares? Same old terrible stuff I would imagine I'd be rid of if I sat my arse down on a couch for long enough. Didn't get too bad, would have if I had slept any longer." He heaved a sigh. "Sleeping is deceptively hard work."

Arthur nodded his agreement and didn't press for more. He was satisfied that Eames had managed to sleep through them, and he had nothing else to say or offer on the subject so he refrained from speaking. He flipped the cover on the pad to resume his researching, which was still combing through what pieces of evidence were being more closely examined, naturally his psychological work up, the older reports, the ones written during the first weeks of his recovery. It was disquieting to see what had been recommended, and what treatment he had actually received. But he didn't have long to contemplate it, his attention stolen by Ariadne's return with a small plate of sliced ration bars, and two with beans and crackers. "Yusuf said this might be better for you, Eames," she said as she walked over and set the protein compound on the bed, and Arthur agreed privately: the more nutrition in less food might be easier for Eames keep down. She handed Arthur a plate and then pulled a fork from one of the numerous pockets on her cargo pants and gave that to him as well. Arthur put the pad down before taking the eating utensil waited to see if Ariadne was staying or going before tucking in.

"This is me, complaining about it," Eames sighed, but chewed on a piece in any case.

Ariadne hovered a little bit, making sure everything was alright most likely, and probably considering if she would inconvenience Eames by plopping down on the bed. She apparently decided against it and petted his hair with a short 'get better' before heading out.

Arthur leaned over his plate as he ate, more cautious than he would have had there been a table. He felt a bit awkward, without a distraction from the fact that he'd essentially rolled over and showed his stomach to Eames rather then cut the fragile ties between them. And Eames wasn't talking, just watching him, Arthur could feel the tell-tale prickle as he stared at his food. He glanced up, mid-bite, "Do you need something?" The words rested between genuine and sarcastic. He felt exposed enough, between admitting to himself he wanted to be friends and that it was largely fear holding him back and uncovering the wealth of information the Alliance had on him, and would not hesitate to use against him if they could. And he wasn't particularly enthused about being watched even without the other factors, but all he let show was a faint scowl and bunched shoulders.

"No, not really. Am I making you uncomfortable?" Eames asked genially. "There's not a whole lot else to look at." A pause. "Do you still think I'm trying to influence you somehow?"

"Do you really want to have this conversation?" Arthur parried, leaning back for unconscious want of space, because he would be honest and he doubted Eames wanted to hear that Arthur still wasn't certain. And Arthur couldn't say he wanted to pick apart their interactions while Eames floundered to keep up with a fever raging through his system. He couldn't help it, the fact he wanted to trust Eames, to believe in him absolutely, didn't change the fact that they had only known each other for several days and there was every possibility it was a lie. And maybe Eames didn't even realize he was doing it, and maybe all of this was just in response to the gun fight and crash, both of them trying to cling to each other for survival. He dropped his gaze back to his plate, half-finished, as he waited to hear if Eames really wanted to have this out.

"I do," Eames sighed. "But maybe you're right and not now." Another sigh and he slumped his shoulders. "How are we supposed to play cards if there's not something there? And I know you get worked up about it, which is understandable but I would like to defend myself from unfair accusations. It's surprisingly distressing when you know someone's thinking shit about you, even if they don't act on it or even say anything about it. When the only thing you want is that person to think well of you, it hurts quite a bit."

Arthur understood, but he still felt he more to lose than Eames stood to gain. Arthur wasn't sitting comfortably either and Eames' incessant need to fix... whatever was or could be between them only made Arthur want to dig in his heels and slow it down. "I don't know what you expect," Arthur said, "when we met your name was Karlson and you left me passed out in a hotel after deactivating my alarm. And, yes, I understand why and that you could have done worse, but it doesn't mean anything because your first words to me were a string of lies because you thought it would be fun to fuck with a federal agent." He stared Eames in the face, because if he really understood he'd drop the subject and stop trying to insist that his hurt feelings meant more than Arthur's concerns. "You're asking me to trust you, I need more." More time, more evidence, more assurances. He left it at that because it really wasn't the best timing. He started eating again, because he wouldn't waste food and he couldn't say he wanted to play a game of cards, especially not if there were answers at stake, and eating was a decent excuse to avoid it.

"Fair point." Eames closed his eyes, taking another breath. "You're the one who suggested answers for betting chips, so I suppose we could leave it for later. And you have all the time you'd like. When were old and grey and you've decided you finally know what you want you can come and tell me. But it won't go anywhere if you just let it sit or avoid it or don't talk about it."

Arthur lost his defensive posture, his shoulders dropping as the muscles relaxed. He'd been braced for worse than that, he'd expected demands of how much more, how much longer, the same demands the small number of failed relationships had made. The way Eames said it, that Arthur just needed to figure it out, however long it took - and, even the fact Eames didn't seem happy about it helped. He finished eating, his eyes drawn back to his plate as he tried to ignore the swell of emotion. Eames had only said the words, words he kept saying, and so far he'd backed them. Each time Arthur rejected an overture of friendship, Eames had accepted it, and each time Arthur made a clumsy attempt to repair the bridge Eames eased the way. And he'd had the thought before, that eventually Eames would grow tired, but he'd shown nothing but patience. Arthur set down the plate and took up the cards, tossing the cards face up on the bed as he picked through them to make a functional deck. "Three passes, and rephrasing the question doesn't count," he dictated, hoping that this took the place of properly addressing what Eames had said, at least for the time being. He wasn't quite there yet, but he was working on it, and Eames wasn't operating at full capacity either.

"Taking advantage of my unsound mind straight after accusing me of lying? I should have known. Could have accused you of masterfully seducing me by falling on your face: my one true weakness." Eames smiled, if a bit sadly.

Arthur knitted his brows, shooting Eames a look as he wasn't sure what to make of that comment. When had he fallen on his face, or was it some Eamesian way of describing the situation Arthur had landed himself in. He couldn't say he cared to have that prodded at, especially the fact that he had ignored warning signs and walked straight into a set up. He resisted the urge to do more than glare, because he couldn't be certain that was what Eames meant, and it was hardly something Arthur would call seductive - was it something to do with that night at the Abelux? The transition from questions to more physical activities was little other than a blur.

"What are we playing then?" Eames asked after a moment, changing the subject.

"Due to your further impaired mental faculties, I thought we could play Snap, unless you have a suggestion."

Eames raised his eyebrows. "Ah, a children's game based on reflexes, I don't see how that can go wrong. Blackjack is fine with me, seeing as I can still count and it wastes more time and less questions. And if I fall asleep we can start up straight where we left off."

"I was going to leave it at announcing 'snap,' but your choice," Arthur said, as he finished piecing a sound deck together. He scooped up the cards, cataloging them in groups to trace as he shuffled. Playing as the dealer in a one on one game wasn't a terrible disadvantage, but they'd switch off he assumed. He held out the deck for Eames to cut, which wouldn't alter much of the sequences he'd noticed taking form.

"Still reflexes." Eames cut the deck, sliding the top half over, letting Arthur shuffle as he wished. "Betting on hand or stack?"

"Your choice," Arthur said. He planned to keep his questions innocuous, and he hoped Eames would do the same. He wasn't ready to press at any sensitive topics that could be saved for later, when they were both better equipped. He passed out cards, one faced up and the other down. His first card was a five of spades, and lifted the other carefully off the bedding. An eight of diamonds. Thirteen total, he'd probably have to hit. Eames' face up card was a Jack of diamonds. Now he knew where the deck had been cut.

"Stack."

The games went quickly, and even with a slight advantage, Arthur couldn't control what cards Eames had. The most he could do was minimize the number of cards Eames won, but even that wasn't a certainty. He couldn't map out an entire deck, so he'd played it safe and only hit more than twenty-one once. In the end, he couldn't tell for certain which of them won without counting their respective piles, Eames had been on something of a winning streak towards the final rounds, collecting six cards at a time.

"Twenty four in my pile, which means you win, lest something got lost," Eames announced once they did count. Arthur surrendered his winnings, and then the remnants of the deck; three cards weren't enough for a last hand so they'd left them to the side. He'd beaten Eames by exactly one, and it had been quite a combination of luck and strategy. A win was a win though, and Arthur considered his question while he let Eames prepare the next game.

"When did you first see stars?" he settled on eventually, because that seemed simple enough and he remembered that Eames had said the stars couldn't be seen on Hera. The same was true for Ariel, but that was due to artificial light rather than other celestial bodies.

Eames smiled, looking down at the deck as he shuffled it. "There are rare times when you can see them, when neither Georgia nor any moons are up in the sky. But the first time I actually remember was when my dad had to fly out to Summerhouse to get some shipment or other and decided it was high time to take me with him. First time on a ship, first time seeing the stars as well. I think I forgot about the novelty of the ship to stare out the window." He chuckled, shaking his head.

Arthur could not be certain that Eames shuffled the cards at a slight angle for the express purpose of keeping them out of Arthur's view, or if that was simply how he shuffled cards. Not that Arthur had made much of an effort to track them this time, instead listening to what Eames had to say and watching his reaction. Arthur worried that he'd never get over Eames smiling, in any form. The softer ones like this, or the cocky grins he sported when he was being a deliberate asshole. Eames lit up, and sometimes it warmed Arthur, made his heart feel heavier and lighter at the same time. And he wasn't a goddamn kid, but Eames made him feel younger regardless. "Sounds nice," he said, pushing away the undue emotions, stowing them for much later at the earliest. "And I bet you left smudges all over the glass," he said dryly, but the image of a smaller, even more excitable Eames leaving hand prints on windows had left the trace of a smile on Arthur's face.

"Fogged up cause I was pressing my nose to it, that's for sure." Eames arched his eyebrows, looking up from under them.

It honestly wasn't too much of a stretch to picture Eames doing that now, and Arthur poorly suppressed a chuckle of his own, most of the air escaping through his nose. "Deal," Arthur urged once he was composed. He was a bit more invested since he was relying entirely on luck this game, but the stakes weren't high. He still wanted to win, naturally, but he wasn't concerned.

Eames grinned but dealt, the round speeding up slightly as he got back in his game. He didn't even bother keeping track as to who was how many cards over, by the end Eames counted up a solid thirty in his hand. "Ah, and I didn't even have to cheat. Let me think." He rubbed his cheek, grimacing slightly. "You told Ariadne about where your parents first met. Tell me now."

Arthur collected the cards and began shuffling, trying to track and talk simultaneously, "There's museum on Ariel, in Enderby, a city over from New Paris. My father made the trip out for the opening of an exhibit on twenty-first century technology, and my mother was there to find something for her thesis. He overheard her asking the tour guide a question the guide couldn't answer and stepped in, she then offered him coffee for a chance to ask more questions, which turned into dinner and a promise to meet at the museum the next morning. They ended up keeping in touch, even after he returned to Bernadette, and every few months he'd make trip out to see her again."

It was a bit different telling Eames the story, considering what Eames knew, but it wasn't as difficult to recite a story as it had been to describe them in the past tense. And it had become easier to talk to Eames in general, Arthur realized as he passed out the first hand.

Much of Arthur's unease washed away in the wake of friendly competition, he wasn't leaning back in his chair but instead forward and he smiled, or rather smirked, with each victorious hand and feigned a scowl with each loss, but the smile lingered in his eyes. He tallied his cards to be certain, twenty-seven, more from luck, Eames had played better which meant he'd probably started counting too. "How did your parents meet?" He asked as he gathered the cards and passed them to Eames.

Eames gathered the cards, shuffling them in plain view, talking. "Nothing exciting. It's a small town, everyone went to the same school. You can say childhood sweethearts but I think it was something closer to childhood enemies. Hated each other's guts at first as far as I was told. Not sure about the transition to marriage, the story mostly changes to involve a lake, bullies, alcohol, you name it. I exist though, that's all I know."

That could explain his mother's less judgmental baring compared to Eames' father, but Arthur only had snatches of information so he merely nodded. It was a fair enough answer. One to make note of, but Arthur already stored every scrap of information Eames gave him when he could.

Although he'd kept track of the sections as usual, Arthur ended up losing rather spectacularly. The first few times he'd assumed he had misjudged or misremembered, but he noticed shifty hand movement while Eames was dealing after his fourth bust. Cheat. Knowing what card was next was hardly controlling it, dealing from the top or bottom meant Eames had two options. He shook his head. Two could play it that way. Arthur collected the cards and began shuffling, purposely keeping them out of Eames sight and making sure he knew the patterns he glimpsed backwards and forwards.

Eames just grinned. "How did your mum end up in the ranks if she was doing a thesis on twenty first century stuff?"

"She wanted to join as an officer, rather than enlist, her thesis was on the progress of energy production, and she did a comparison to the development shown on Earth-That-Was. It wasn't a passion for her, she just needed her bachelor's. She said openly that if she hadn't met my father that day she would have written it on something else entirely. She wasn't a woman to do something by halves," Arthur answered, as he dealt. He had every intention of ruining Eames' chances, fairly confident he knew the deck well enough to give Eames the worst cards possible.

Eames played it safe, managing to cut his losses although Arthur was clearly out to get him, grinning the whole time. Still, he ended up eight cards down, quickly gathering up the cards to shuffle.

Arthur thought over his question, dismissing the one about Niska for the moment and refraining from asking anything that skirted too close to emotional. "Do you have any siblings?" He vaguely remembered asking while in the hotel room, but he could recollect an answer. He watched Eames carefully, but lost track of sections, glaring at Eames when he realized why. False shuffling bastard.

"Nope. Didn't you ask that at one point?" Eames smiled, self satisfied. It went without saying that Arthur had, and that he'd been too intoxicated to remember, so he only frowned in response and called it a wasted question. Not that there was an end game, he wasn't planning to use any gathered intelligence against Eames, not unless Eames pushed first.

Arthur peeked at his cards, lost the hand, and then the game. Yusuf bustled in to check on Eames' temperature before Eame had time to ask a question, focused on him and ignoring Arthur.

Arthur largely ignored Yusuf in return, save to move out of the man's way. He stood by what he'd said, if there were further complications brought on by negligence on Yusuf's part Arthur would probably do worse than break his hands, but Yusuf seemed to have received that message. Arthur grimaced as he realized he'd let himself become wrapped up in their game as well, he'd meant to keep Eames hydrated, but the consequences were far from dire, Arthur would have noticed before it became dangerous, and Eames had clearly been on the mend. Arthur found he was quickly adjusting to three larger meals instead of smaller ones throughout the day, and he wolfed down his dinner rather than pick at it. He noted he was given a wide berth in the queue for the shower, voices dropping to whispers, but he held his head high and tried to pretend he didn't register the distinct difference in the way he was treated compared to Eames. He only overheard snatches of conversations mixed in with incongruent peals of laughter as he hung back, choosing to shower last and avoid spoiling the mood. It was a short affair, long enough to lather soap and rinse it off and no more. Yusuf had washed the wound before dinner, so there wasn't a need for Arthur bother with it as he returned to the tent in fresh, ill-fitting clothes; he left it at just trousers and an undershirt, which didn't drown him quite so much. He pushed his hair back, idly wishing he had gel to smooth it into obedience.

Eames turned in almost immediately after the shower and fell asleep almost the instant he hit the bed.

Arthur only had a little trouble falling asleep, but eventually the quiet, the warmth and the darkness carried him down into sleep. He startled awake once, eyes flying open as Mal's dulcet tones echoed in his ears along with Dom's frantic pleas, but if it woke Eames, he didn't make it known. His arm was still wrapped around Arthur, and he didn't groan or complain, and Arthur carefully settled more comfortably into the hold again, some of his anxiety ebbing as he realized his recurring nightmare wasn't such an obstacle. He slept peacefully the rest of the night.

The next day was uncomfortably warm, and Arthur was glad he'd chosen the thin undershirt as the three of them (because Eames was insufferable) took the morning to map out the damage to the exterior. He snapped pictures of the outside, he could compile the images later and figure out the best methods and metals to utilize after he spoke with Eames about the more detailed measurements. Arthur also made certain to keep an eye on Eames' water intake, sacrificing his own if he had to, and eventually relegating Eames to the shade, offering him a book and a bottle of water, as he and Ariadne finished the last of the wiring, stripping and replacing the coiling. She picked up on it fast, and kept up a decent amount of inane chatter, waning as the sun crossed the sky. They did manage to return earlier than their previous trips out, and Arthur brought along a few more things he thought might be useful. Ariadne made a joke about nesting instinct, which he glared at during the drive back, because basic survival was in no way nesting. And since he'd spent much of the day at the mercy Ariadne's blend of annoying and insightful comments, he felt no qualms in leaving Eames with her while he left to water Morena's flowers. He joined them at one of the tables, sinking into the chair heavily as he inhaled the aroma of seasoned food. It seemed someone was taking advantage of Eames' supplies.

That evening Arthur cleaned and rebandaged as swiftly as he could without becoming rough so Eames could sleep - the wound seemed to be healing, it wasn't as open and raw looking, more mottled with new skin growth. He slipped into bed, nestled in which had long ceased being awkward, and resumed his intelligence gathering, dimming the screen so the light wouldn't keep Eames awake. He poured through the reports, focusing on the accusations that Dom's suicide hadn't been suicide, flipping through the photos of his autopsy until he couldn't bear to look at the mutilated corpse. He lowered the pad to the floor and stared into the dark, reverting to silence while a war waged between anger and sorrow and guilt, a wet trail along his face and into the pillow as the ravages. But he made no noise, and his body did not quake, until at last he slipped into sleep without realizing, unable to rouse himself as early as he had intended.

The cold woke him, which was far and away better than a nightmare, and he pushed himself upright, blinking his eyes rapidly to help wake himself before resorting to rubbing away grit in the corners of them with his fingers. He caught sight of Eames with the razor blade at his neck and fought not to visibly shudder, hastily leaving the bed and mumbling about fetching breakfast as he threw on shoes and lifted the flap. He knew a straight razor and a knife were very different things, and he knew Eames was only trying to shave, but the metal glinted and the memory was still fresh in his mind.

He waited in line, which was enough of a distraction that he felt comfortable returning to the tent with a bowl of what was left of the sweet congee and a few pieces of youtiao that Ariadne had swiped for them, claiming it was only fair since they had found them in Eames freezer before she sighed and stared dolefully at the mounds of dishes. Arthur was left to wonder if the youtiou had been made from scratch and frozen, or if it had been prepackaged as he pushed the flap aside with his shoulder. "This was all that was left," he said to explain the fact it was only one bowl and a broken dough stick.

"Ah, it's later than I thought. Ariadne doing the dishes then?" Eames stated more than asked. She had complained at length about them. "We'll make do I'm sure."

Arthur headed for the bed because while he ordinarily did not condone eating in bed, he was not so adamant that he couldn't see it was the better option since there was no table besides the nightstand - currently housing several items with no room for a plate and bowl unless Arthur wanted to re-sort everything - and they had to share. He sat at the foot with his back at the cloth wall and starting breaking the pieces of youtiao into even smaller bite-sized portions. "You might want to let someone else do that," Arthur suggested at sighting the nick on Eames' cheek and the slight unevenness of the shave in general. He carefully dipped the fried dough in the congee, wiping it on the edge of the bowl before popping it in his mouth. He pushed Eames' share to the other side of the bowl, slotted into the metallic plate for stability.

"Everyone's a critic." Eames left the razor in favor of sitting across from Arthur and taking up his piece of youtiao. "You want to do it?" The phrase was half joking, half challenging.

Had it been a different razor, electronic, disposable, Arthur would have met the challenge without issue, but the idea of pressing a blade to Eames' skin brought to mind distressing images and Mal's voice in his ear, encouraging him to press the blade in. "I think I do enough for you as it is," Arthur said, dryly, hiding his discomfort and hoping that would be the end of it. He knew he wouldn't, the image repulsive enough to leave his mouth dry and his stomach roiling, enough to unsteady him and combined with his unfamiliarity with straight razors he considered it best not to make an attempt. Maybe Eames could ask Yusuf, or someone that was more adept and practiced at grooming other people. Arthur continued to eat, though he'd lost his appetite.

"Mm, then this will have to do." A sigh and Eames chewed on his food, watching Arthur again. "There's no need to be so down about it. I will survive with an uneven shave no matter how much I complain."

Arthur gave an amused smile, catching his grounding and finding his footing, more than glad Eames was making jokes instead of pressing. It beat exaggerated sympathy and unctuous coaxing that he had grown to loathe from people on Ariel. "You'll survive because you aren't the one that has to look at it," he shot back. It was comical, though, not grotesque, and once Ariadne saw it Arthur felt confident the issue of his cowlick a couple of days ago would be long forgotten. He smoothed his hair unconsciously and decided to take pity. "Bring the razor with you, we can turn the gravity on and you can use the mirror," he said, finishing the last bite and taking up the spoon to eat the rest of the congee.

"I will survive because I take jokes in stride," Eames raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

"Ariadne said the youtaio was yours," Arthur said, changing the subject and waiting for Eames to expand. It had been good, and Arthur was now legitimately curious if Eames had made them or bought them.

"Ah, so it is. And here I thought I would never find use for the dough I fried. Boredom is never a good thing, especially when you end up wasting supplies over it. At least we didn't have to eat congee plain, that is about as miserable as the plain rice except it's also liquid."

"It's not that bad," Arthur quipped. At least it was edible and there was enough of it to go around. Though the way Ariadne had told it, she'd had to sneak the fried goods before many of the residents had even arrived to form a line. No such issue with the congee, which was only lightly sweetened and more watery than Arthur was accustomed. He was adaptable though, and it wasn't worth complaining when he was given the same food as everyone else.

"What, just not bad? No fawning over my cooking? Consider me offended," Eames chuckled, shaking his head.

"The rice," Arthur corrected with the same intonation he would have used if he were insulting Eames' intelligence, then addressed Eames' exaggerated offense, "Do you honestly need someone to point out the obvious?" It was something of a backhanded compliment, meant good-naturedly even if the delivery was deadpan.

"Not so much obvious if last time it was a point of contention. Which, knowing the full story, I apologize for. You mentioned it and I did it, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

Arthur considered letting the apology go. But while the reluctance to discuss himself was still very present, it had lessened greatly around Eames, and this was long overdue. "Don't apologize," he said, smoothing the sheets rather than make eye contact, "You tried to do something nice, and it was good. I should have thanked you." He risked a glance in Eames direction. "I just... I didn't expect it, then." He liked the fact that Eames had listened and made an effort, it had been a very long time since anyone had done something remotely like that. "So, I guess, thank you."

"Better late than never?" Eames asked, sounding confused. "You're welcome," he corrected himself, before finishing with "I guess," and a grin.

Arthur shook his head left the rest for Eames, once he'd eaten enough to carry him through to lunch, and scratched at the stubble along his jaw. "Do you have other razors?" he asked, bracing himself - for what? Eames had never made an issue of Arthur's problems before, and he forced himself to loosen his muscles. If Eames didn't it would be fine, he'd figure something out. Even if he had to ask Eames to do it, though he hoped he wouldn't have to. But he did trust Eames, he just preferred not to rely on someone. He'd learned, hard, that it was better not to. Been forced to learn, if his evaluations held any truth, and it stung to learn that some of his issues had been cultivated.

"Not that I recall? We can check back on Rook but they would have gotten there on accident. There hadn't been need for anything else and seemed wasteful to learn."

Arthur frowned minutely at the lack of confirmation. He hadn't stumbled across any disposable razors among Eames' various belongings, but truthfully he would not have known where to look. He'd realized that Eames wasn't as unorganized as he'd first thought, there seemed to be a rudimentary system based on need and space requirements, but it still left much to be desired. If they planned to travel together for any great length of time, Arthur could see some contention forming if Eames remained adamant on not letting Arthur create a more efficient method of storing inventory. "Any idea where it would end up?" he ventured, Eames' guess would be better than his, he hoped. Arthur had been mapping out what they had as he spent more time in various room, but he was limited to what was visible. Ariadne may have been willing to dig around, but Arthur tried to respect Eames' privacy as much as he was able.

"If it exists, it would have needed up at the bottom of one of the drawers with the extra clothes. I don't look in there often, there might be one or two things I missed in there. I don't suppose Ariadne would mind one more bowl, would she?" Eames asked, standing with his now empty bowl and pocketing the razor.

Arthur followed suit. "I'll leave that delivery to you, I have to take care of the plants," he said as he exited the tent. Part of him lamenting the fact he wouldn't see Ariadne's initial reaction to Eames uneven attempt at shaving first hand. He headed for Morena's regardless, planning to water the soil and meet Eames and Ariadne back in the kitchens. Considering she hadn't been distracted by an impromptu fight, she was probably finishing the last dishes. The piles of them had certainly moved, at least it seemed that way from where Arthur stood.

The watering didn't take long and Arthur made his way back through the now quiet village. His first view was Eames' back, stooped forward and... There was a wave of something Arthur would rather not identify as he saw Ariadne's hands on Eames' face while he leaned to allow it. But as he drew closer it became obvious she was only mocking a patchy beard, not - and he couldn't even be sure why the thought had crossed his mind let alone why the idea of Ariadne and Eames bothered him. Eames had already said she was too young, and Ariadne hadn't expressed more than friendship. Arthur kept his expression neutral. He was not jealous. That would imply he wanted Eames, and he didn't. Shouldn't. It would fade, he was almost certain. "Lunches and water?" he asked.

"On it." Ariadne said, gesturing for them to follow, but Arthur shook his head and told them he had to grab his rucksack. He noticed that Eames had pocketed the straight razor, but he asked if he needed anything else. He planned to bring another book, the next one in the series that Eames had started yesterday, but Eames was starting to look much healthier as the antibiotics worked their way through his system and perhaps he wouldn't need to rest quite as much. He waited for an answer before heading for the tent.

"We'll meet you at the transport," Eames said, shaking his head in the negative.

The rucksack was kept near the entrance and Arthur hefted it on to his shoulder as he ducked inside. He crossed over to the stacks of books, now organized by author, and selected the one Eames had started and the sequel, because he wasn't entirely certain that Eames had finished it. Chances were the man had read through each of them multiple times, but since Eames hadn't made a request Arthur was left to guess. He tucked the books inside the bag and then grabbed the pad, flipping it open and closing out the tabs so that Ariadne nor Eames would see what had kept him up most of the night. Not unless they went to the trouble of digging through the history, and he doubted either of them were inclined to do so. Ariadne had only grabbed the pad once during lunch in a fit of boredom while Arthur tried to stretch out the meal and convince himself he was full.

He found them at the transport and ducked into the backseat after dropping the bag inside the vehicle beside the packed lunches and water bottles, which were reused by the community. Though he had been allowed to keep two in the tent, one for himself and one for Eames, the pot had been exchanged for water drum, which would be a pain to refill and carry back but would require fewer trips out.

Ariadne started the engine and set them off, the drive seeming shorter and shorter each time as Arthur grew used it. The trees taking on more and more familiarity as they whooshed passed on relatively level terrain and Arthur settled in the back seat, ignoring Eames trying to cajole Ariadne into letting him drive back. She wasn't having it.

When they finally arrived, Arthur hopped out with bag in tow, ignoring the friendly trade of insults between Ariadne and Eames as he entered the code and let himself inside. He headed for the cockpit, and began searching through Eames' things for a razor. He assumed Eames would want to take advantage of the mirror and properly finish shaving. He didn't hold out much hope, he'd been through these drawers when he brought spare clothes, most articles now migrated to their tent but the thicker, warmer clothing he'd left here. He frowned, and let out a quiet sigh.

The morning repairs went easily even without Eames, although eventually Eames got bored of reading in the shade and insisted on helping. That the gravity had been turned on for the duration was the only thing that stopped Arthur from protesting but Eames tired quickly on his own and they took a break for lunch, giving him the time and opportunity to shave as well.

Clean shaven was a much better look than untrimmed and uneven, and Arthur strived not let his appreciation for the reappearance of Eames' lips or the introduction of more soft skin show. His eyes only flicked over Eames before they flitted away and he resumed clearing the remnants of lunch. Ariadne, however, was more vocal in her approval, then she turned to him and asked when he'd wash the dirt off his face. As though he hadn't heard that joke before. He let it slide, and when Ari began to question why he was quiet he waved off the concern, telling her it was tiredness, which was the truth, if not all of it even as Eames stepped in on his behalf, mostly asking her to lay off, which she did.

The longer lunch meant they had less done, but they did manage to clear out the remainder of the windshield and prep it for a replacement. Arthur made note of the dimensions on the pad, and snapped a few pictures on the off chance visual reminders would be necessary and then he called it a day while there was enough daylight for dinner and a shower. True to her word, Ariadne did not let Eames drive back.

Eames dutifully complained about not being given the chance to drive for at least a little bit before just settling for enjoying the breeze. As they rolled into town he belatedly remembered Morena, the town uncharacteristically busy for the time of day. "Looks like we have a good haul from the market - I hope they were able to trade something in for sugar," Ariadne quipped, perking up. "There's probably going to be a party with dinner, for once. It's been a while until you guys since anyone's had any fun around here."

"Fun, by the way," Ariadne directed at Arthur as he stepped out of the transport with the bag, now filled with Eames' shaving equipment, "is that thing people do to enjoy themselves." It seemed Eames' earlier admonishment had been brushed off, but it had worked for a time and Arthur was privately thankful. There wasn't any denying her words that a party was imminent given that the flurry of activity seemed to be based more on excited anticipation than panicked urgency. Ariadne was quick to leap in, gathering the bundle of dirtied plates from lunch and heading for the kitchen; smiling and laughing with the other residents as they recounted previous takes and what various foods they hoped had been brought in. Already someone was strumming out a few notes, not in an actual song, tuning perhaps. Whatever it was was a bit sharp on the first string that flattened out oddly.

In the center, visible only in snatches as people passed through, was Morena. She smiled at them, a curious smile. Enigmatic, at least to Arthur, and a part of him wished they had taken the time to discuss matters more fully before she arrived. But the last few days had been comfortable, and Arthur hadn't wanted that to change, nor did he want to explain his part and that he had almost tried to severe ties completely, for good, as result of half-formed theories and deep-seated trust issues. "I have to drop this off," he said about the bag, because he was anxious to be out of Morena's sight.

"And I need to go... Help you do that," Eames said, apparently from a lack of anything he really needed to be doing. Arthur wasn't given a chance to protest as Morena ducked into the tent right after them, a bundle in her arms.

"So nice to see you boys after a couple of days," she noticed in a tone that implied how rude it was of them not to come and say hello as soon as they made eye contact. "I hope you've been enjoying the use of the pad, but I do come bearing gifts." She held out what looked suspiciously like Arthur's shirt and vest. "I did manage to get this repaired on the way there, after Ariadne had given them to me. I believe these are yours, Arthur. I don't think putting on something more fitting will go amiss tonight. It is a party after all. And Eames if you would come with me."

He grimaced but didn't budge. "What for?"

Arthur took the clothes, turning them over and checking the stitch, barely noticeable and the bloodstain was entirely absent. If he weren't as on edge, he may have been impressed. He watched her, wishing he were better at gauging people, but she hadn't asked for anything in return and she'd called them gifts.

"If you won't come, perhaps Arthur will, come along dear and tell me how my pad has aided in the repairs," she said, and it was clear she wasn't aiming for subtle. Not with the blatant reminder of the pad and not with how her eyes remained on Eames, her expression asking him what his next move would be. Was he leverage?

"Fine," Eames groused and ducked out, Morena following.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter, then 8 on the 5th and then I'll probably have to break for a couple of weeks so I can catch up.

Eames narrowed his eyes, fighting down the acute protective instinct he felt as soon as she mentioned Arthur. She might as well have broken him once and he wasn't about to let her try again. And they had been getting on so damnably well the past couple of days. Of course, he may or may not hear it from Arthur later about how he just capitulated so easily at the briefest mention of his name, but he wasn't left with a whole lot of choice in the matter. "Fine," he agreed, making it clear he was not about to play happy about it. What was her game this time?

"Perfect, we'll be in my home should you need us, Arthur. And thank you for taking care of my garden so well." She all but led Eames out, pressing a palm between his shoulder blades as if he was some stubborn mule. "Now then as well as Arthur's things, Ariadne had grabbed a couple of others, thinking they were his style. They're too big to be his and hardly tailored properly, something I am going to aim to fix while I have a couple of hours. And of course discuss what have you been up to with Arthur the past couple of days." Oh no. This was going to be hell, wasn't it.

Morena guided him to their destination, smiling amiably as people passed, offering their thanks for the rather large meal they had in store, meats that needed to be eaten quickly or not at all. She let them inside her house, her smile turning more genuine at the sight of her flowers, looking as lively as she left them. At least that seemed like something she genuinely cared about. And she let Arthur take care of them for several days - an expression of trust? How strange. 

"So, do tell me, how are the pair of you?" she asked as she gathered her kit and gestured to the pile of clothing laid out on the bed for Eames to move aside, after starting to bustle about and lay out some of Eames' shirts on the table, going over them with measuring tape and what looked like soap.

"Fine," he answered shortly, which was the truth. "Better for the lack of you and your meddling. Although I would think most people would ask after my arm."

Morena smiled placidly at Eames recalcitrance, "I've heard from Yusuf that your arm is healing quite well, better than expected even. I'm much more interested in what I don't know. And bear in mind, whatever answers I don't hear from you, I'll hear from Arthur. Though I do wonder what I'll have to tell him in order to get those answers..."

Eames bristled, grimacing. Threats were not something he responded well to and her blackmail was not helping. "What is your problem? I honestly don't care what you have against me but if you keep on attempting to bring Arthur into this, you can count me deaf and mum. Is it some sort of morbid fascination with wreckage of the emotional kind? Get all the information, then use it to ruin any good thing that comes out of this whole mess? Because I can't see what you're trying to accomplish otherwise." It was one thing to let Arthur oscillate back and forth, quite another to let Morena attempt to dig at the spots where he did hurt or where he'd dared hope. There were only so many keys to his confidence he was willing to mint.

Morena faltered. "So it's still not so certain," she said, drawing out the conclusion Eames hadn't asked her to make, her smile fading. "I have no desire to ruin whatever it is you are attempting to foster, I only wish to make up for what damage I may have inadvertently caused. Perhaps I have been doing this too long-" she cut herself off. "You are both very stubborn and very loyal individuals, aren't you?"

Eames sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "That would be true," he answered, riling a little behind the realization that, while it was beyond doubt that Arthur was loyal, he was loyal to Eames and that was something new. Something he was glad to be confirmed. 

Someone knocked on the door and he figured he might as well open it, since Morena was busy with a box full of pins now. The thought occurred to him that neither she nor Ariadne ever actually asked if he would mind that his clothes were resown for Arthur. Not that he did but the assumption irked him anyway. Behind the door was Arthur, dressed almost as he first was on Persephone with an added dash of Black Rock - his hair still floppy and needing a shave but maybe Eames could appreciate tailored clothes after all. "Mr. Hale," Eames grinned, letting him in, not even hiding his approval.

Arthur just shot him a warning look, unamused. "My, that is much better," Morena chimed in.

Arthur didn't glare at that, simply thanked her for both the compliment and the mended clothing, and when she asked him what he needed, he gestured to Eames. "He agreed to help me shave, since there isn't a mirror," he explained.

"Yes, I did promise that much," Eames agreed again. Arthur really _did_ care considering how quickly this rescue happened.

"That's fine," Morena said lightly, like she was done with him. "And if you could get that dressed, as well?" Eames scowled at the insult, before letting the expression drop as he closed Morena's door behind him.

"I assumed correctly, then," Arthur said, almost a question still, as he started for the tent.

"Of course you assumed correctly - it'll be a day to remember when I actually enjoy spending time in Morena's company. Today is not that day. I think I was supposed to be helping her tailor some of my stuff for you but since she never outwardly told me to do anything and didn't stop me from leaving I owe her nothing." He sighed and shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It was nice to be able to shrug, even if it cost a little bit of pain.

"Are you actually going to change?" Arthur asked, mild and curious, as they ducked into the tent.

"I don't know, are you really going to shave?"

"I'll have to or she'll know I lied. Do you know how to sew?" Arthur queried, a touch skeptical, as Eames dug through the pile. "Why is she tailoring your clothes?"

"Not besides mending holes and I think she needs something to occupy her time. I would say that she'd be more use soldering but I doubt she'll be willing. I'm far more concerned but how my belongings seem to become far more liquid as time goes on. For you, I don't mind and the food made sense, but honestly we don't have the storage space for all the things that are migrating from Rook to here." Another sigh and Eames ducked to get at the clothing under the music box, shaking his head as he unearthed a nicer silk shirt in the pile that Ariadne had brought. "That girl is like a magpie, honestly," he commented. Then again, he couldn't exactly begrudge her the little bits of civilization she was attracted to, not after two years in this hell hole. "At least she doesn't take it for herself." He stripped, changing into the shirt and a new pair of pants, hoping he didn't have to find a tie as well because that was far too much.

"I asked her to bring things that might attract Morena's interest. I'd like to be able to refuse her, but I still need the pad. Can you hold the mirror for me? I thought I'd try myself, first." Arthur gestured to the shaving set.

"That might explain it," Eames hummed, that was as vague enough request to grant Ariadne all the rights she needed to go through all their things. His things. The things. He took the mirror, holding it up at as good an angle as he could see. Best to just hold it straight ahead and let Arthur align himself with it as he wanted. It really was small, the only real worth to it being if Arthur was to hold it with one hand and shave with the other. "I could talk you through it, too," he mentioned.

Arthur seated himself on the chair, already beginning to apply the shaving cream, assuming Eames would take the bed. "Yeah, that would be... good."

Eames picked up the razor, holding the mirror with his right hand, leaning the elbow on his knee as he sat. "I'm assuming you've never even held one of these before, so stop me if you know any of this. For a start, hold it like so," he flipped it open with one hand, resting three fingers on its back, tang between ring and pinkie, thumb near the middle of the blade. "But change it up whenever you feel the need to. Otherwise, just take your time, go in the direction of hair growth and don't press hard. It's sharp for a reason." This was odd, throwing him back to when his father had said almost the exact same thing after which Eames promptly cut himself. Arthur wasn't a kid, but he seemed as nervous as one.

Arthur took the razor, mimicking the hold and trying a few others to test the feel. He cautiously ran his thumb along the edge and pressing in at the point just to see exactly how much pressure it would take, drawing blood almost immediately. He wiped his thumb on the facecloth before he draped it across his leg, looking between the small smear of blood and the razor in his hand. He looked up at Eames, humiliation and anger playing across this face. "I can't."

"That's fine. Do you want me to? Or just forget it all and you can try a new style?" Not that cutting his thumb first just to try it out was the best idea to start with, but he wouldn't hold it against Arthur for trying. He took the razor out of Arthur's hand, shutting it for now. Hopefully it would at least make Arthur less nervous - the last thing he wanted was another panic attack on his hands.

"If you wouldn't mind," Arthur said, a bit stiffly and without eye contact, uncomfortable with asking for help still. "I'd like it gone."

"It's fine. You'll have to scoot back a little bit." Eames stood, opening the razor again. This was odd in itself but he supposed it was to be expected. Kneeling wouldn't work, he realized now and he would have to lean forward, balancing one knee on the chair, gently turning Arthur's head to get at his cheek. It was better to keep this all business as well, one hand pulling Arthur's skin, the other shaving, so he didn't get distracted by each and every touch.

Arthur was taught as a string and almost vibrating under his hands as Eames pulled away to wipe the blade from the shaving cream it had collected in the first couple of strokes. He realized he'd fallen quiet in his concentration - doing this on another person was stranger and not as comfortable as he'd thought. "Do you want me to talk?" he volunteered, waiting for a response before continuing. Arthur was well on his way to becoming one great tremor because he was so tense. He ran the back if his fingers over Arthur's newly shaved jaw lightly, an automatic, calming gesture. "If it makes you feel better, I will, but I'll have to go slower."

While the blade was gone, Arthur let out a shaky breath. Had he been holding it? "Yeah," he said through still clenched teeth. "This is... it shouldn't be this difficult."

"It's not so bad. I don't know whether to suggest you close your eyes or not, but it would probably be best if you stopped shaking quite so much. I count myself lucky that you aren't just throwing me in a hold as soon as I get anywhere near your skin with this." The vague chatter helped him disassociate, breaking down everything into repetitive motions and not his fingertips pulling Arthur's skin, brushing against lips as he moved on to the area under Arthur's nose. Not completely, but it helped him stop weighing exactly how angry Arthur would get should Eames dodge in to kiss him and start feeling guilty about it instead. It was no way to earn Arthur's trust but it was only a kiss wasn't it? There was only so much Arthur could be angry about unless he really worked himself into a stupor. Which... might happen. And he wasn't even about to touch the reasons behind this desire - that was even further dangerous territory and something Morena would probably work out of either him or Arthur when, not if, she got wind of it. "Still, it's better than the poor sods who end up scared of every dust particle that moves wrong. Still, this whole party business is probably the most irresponsible idea I've heard in a while, wasting resources like this. Whatever keeps up people's optimism, I suppose but still, there's something to planning long term." He moved on to Arthur's chin, striving to forget everything he had just thought. At least Arthur had managed to relax, becoming still and calm under his hands. He couldn't just ruin it.

His shoulder hurt slightly and he focused on that, the slight twinging as he leaned forward. It was only marginally more distracting than Arthur's face so he managed to make himself heel. He wiped the blade for the last time, flipping the towel over to wipe the residual shaving cream from Arthur's face. "It's still not one hundred percent certain that we'll manage to fix Rook in two weeks, not if we don't find something to replace the defragmentor. I'm glad you were able to relax, by the way," he mentioned, taking the towel back. Arthur was absolutely loose-limbed and pliant, warm, eyes closed... This was a test, wasn't it, he knew it was.

"It's not always easy to limit yourself," Arthur said as he stood, rubbing his hands on his cheeks, clearly enjoying the feeling. "They're roasting meat, you can smell it near the showers, and I doubt there's enough room for all of it in the freezers. It's cook and eat it now, or nothing." Then he admitted, "Though I hope they're planning to dry and salt some of it."

"Are they really?" Eames folded the towel, making a note to wash it in the future. "Well they had better salt it right and not ruin it." He was complaining on little basis; meat was better than no meat and so far no one had over-salted anything to make it inedible. It was mostly a distraction for himself and he puttered about, putting away the shaving cream and brush after washing the latter in a handful of water. "The whole business was probably Morena's idea in the first place, there is just such a draw to the high life that's hard to let go." There really wasn't much else he could occupy himself with and whatever was going on outside was probably far more distracting. "So then, now that we're all gussied up to the specifications of our annoying ladies... Shall we?" He nodded towards the exit.

"Our ladies?" Arthur repeated, complete with an arched eyebrow as he attempted to tuck away hair curling around his face, "You're getting along better with Morena than I thought." He gave a wry smile as he said it and ducked outside quickly.

"Absolutely not: I say that in an exasperated and annoyed manner, I resent any assumption otherwise," Eames groused, following Arthur out. "Though I admit she might not be completely evil, she still... Set you off. And talked about me behind my back. Next time she can accuse me of fancy prostitution to my face, thank you." They hadn't quite broached that topic before but it felt like it was settled enough to joke about. Nor he didn't feel the need to talk about it, not at that particular moment. They neared the bonfire.

It was large and crackling now, and more strings were plucked while people stood nearby, laughing and chatting, occasionally their voices were pierced by the sharp shouts of children at play. Ariadne waved to them excitedly. "他妈的! Arthur! Much better."

"Shiny," he commented when he neared Ariadne, looking up at the flames, before down at her. "Finally getting the chance to air out that fancy dress, are you? Any chance there's some sort of alcoholic beverage in attendance? I'm assuming the beef - I don't even want to know how that happened and neither does anyone else - will still be a while."

"Oh, yeah, no, it's almost ready though. I can't wait! There's the homemade whiskey being set up on the table there - bring me some if you're going."

"Wouldn't miss me any moonshine." Eames need a drink so he could relax and enjoy himself, especially after what had gone on in his head during something as simple as a shave. Words were one thing and he would undoubtedly never lay off if just for the sake of not suspiciously changing character, but that they had some truth to them would stay inside. "Arthur?" he questioned, walking backwards a couple of steps, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. "Shall you be wanting any, while I'm going?"

Arthur shook his head. 

"Oh, c'mon, have a little fun. Bring him a drink!" Ariadne shouted even as Eames made his way through the crowd to the table.

It wasn't much of a dilemma - if Arthur didn't want his, there was always someone else around to drink it. And it was probably some logical reason holding him back, judging by the first time they met, so he could eventually change his mind. 

Eames poured three, balancing all of them in his hands to make his way back. It was crowded and he was almost run over by a group of kids somewhere around his knees. He'd heard them before but he didn't think there were this many. Still, he managed to make it back without spilling too much, handing Ariadne hers and taking a drink from his own, leaving Arthur to decide if he wanted to take his or not.

Arthur glared but took it and sniffed at it. "It's one night, Arthur," Ariadne continued to insist, "we don't have alcohol very often. And I don't plan to be anywhere in the morning." She raised her glass started to take a sip, while Arthur continued to try to gauge the proof.

"If you don't want it, I'll have it, no need to look murderous," Eames raised his eyebrows. The whiskey wasn't pleasant but it was stronger than normal whiskey, which was good enough for him. It warmed him and he downed the glass completely. "It's just a shot after all and none too foul." That they wouldn't be working in the morning disappointed him somewhat but he supposed he was the only one who had had the two days of rest. And if Ariadne didn't let him drive they would have to stay put if she did.

"Did you take any ibuprofen today?" Arthur asked because he was nothing if not balls of fun. 

"In the morning," Eames answered. This was far better, he could already feel some of the tension leaving his shoulders. A round of cheers went up closer to the kitchens, signaling that something was happening. Eames turned to look and if he had to guess he would say the roast was done, or at least some of it. Ariadne was off like a piranha, passing Arthur her half-empty cup and taking full advantage of her slight frame to weave through the gathering crowd. Arthur set the drinks on the ground. "Watch that, I'll grab you a plate." He ordered as he left.

Eames nodded, stacking one of them into his empty one, holding them up so they wouldn't get stepped on. He should probably find them a seat instead of just standing around and he looked for something closer to the fire. It really was a sight, burning up to the heavens, and he took up one of the black logs, which would have been impossible to find if it weren't for the cloth draped over it.

Ariadne found Eames with little trouble and she smiled at him over her take. "Nice spot," she offered as she plopped herself down on the log beside him and started eating. "Mmm," she teased because Arthur hadn't returned, leaving Eames without food.

"I have pictures," Arthur was saying when he did appear, talking distractedly to a man following him and handing Eames a plate full of meat strips without breaking the conversation. 

"Oh, good, I'd like a look at them, do you have them with you?" the man said and like that they were off towards the tent.

"That was abrupt," Ariadne muttered beside him.

"It seems Arthur has finally started to make his own way in the world," Eames chuckled, picking at his plate. He wasn't jealous because that would be silly and he squashed down the feeling as quickly as he could which was only half as fast as he would like. Instead, he settled down with his plate - at least for the time his sudden restlessness would let him. That conversation had to be about Rook, too and he hadn't even been invited. Not that he didn't trust Arthur... At some point he would need to make sure Arthur ate, no matter how filling the plate that he'd taken with him looked, Arthur was certainly liable to forget about it. Or at least that's what he steadfastly told himself, making himself sit still and eat. He was hungry after all.

His plate only lasted him perhaps ten minutes within which his mood soured enough for Ariadne to start shooing him off towards the tent and away from her merrymaking. She didn't comment on it and he wasn't about to defend outright against knowing looks so he walked off, ducking in without waiting.

Arthur looked up at him from his seat on the bed - the other man was in the chair, which... was acceptable. From the looks of it, Arthur had been flipping through photos on the pad and showing them to the guest.

"Eames?"

"What? Leaving with nary a word and then not expecting me to come investigate? Hardly. Evening, I'm Eames," he held out his hand for the other man to shake. There was nothing to be worked up over, of course, because there was nothing that he even should be worked up over, period. It would have been far easier to look at the pad had they both sat on the bed but they hadn't, which was their loss or something.

"Isaac - Arthur was just telling me about all the welding that will need to be done," the man said, his smile was tight which only put Eames that more on edge.

"Is this about Rook? Because I would very much like a third opinion on her." That part, at least, was wholly true and Arthur's forgotten plate in the middle of the bed added on to that put him in complete right to come investigate. And now the effects of his first drink had been whisked away by all the tension and he was badly in need of another.

Arthur shook his head in annoyance at Eames and watched them shake hands. "I'd say Arthur's got it figured out," Isaac said, easy smile back on his face, "so I don't have much of an opinion to speak of, I'm really much better with my hands. And don't worry, we'll take care of it, why don't you go back and enjoy the party?"

No.

There was no way this guy was going to tell him what to do. Eames raised his eyebrows, holding back from crossing his arms in annoyance only by virtue of the pain the gesture would cost him. He shoved his hands in his pockets instead, hovering. "I typically do whatever I feel like doing at that particular moment," he quipped, just barely masking his frustration with a conversational tone. "And I suppose since it's all figured out you'll be heading out in short order as well. Wouldn't want to miss the dancing and merrymaking of such a wonderful party after all and I'd love to get to know you outside a dreary old tent. Unless you need me to leave for some other reason?" Oh well that came out bitter. Still, she was his ship and while he couldn't be in the right to guard Arthur like some precious treasure, he would be damned before he let someone he didn't personally get a read on even touch Rook. And so far he didn't like what he was seeing. Hopefully the man's talent made up for it or Eames would insist on doing it all himself.

"We're discussing details, we're not finished," Arthur stated, cutting off whatever Isaac was preparing to say. "Shouldn't be more than a few minutes, unless you have something to add."

"Details," Eames asserted, backing down somewhat. It wasn't as specific as he would have hoped and he clapped a hand on the back of the chair with an air of finality. Hopefully Arthur knew what he was doing - not that they had much of a choice in help and he wasn't much concerned by Isaac's ability to operate a welder. It would help if he was good though. "Well, you can fill those in for me later, then, Arthur. Do hope they're worth missing out on what little food and drink is available and, Arthur, eat your share for godsakes, before I am forced to confiscate it and eat it myself." He shifted his weight off the chair, tipping an imaginary hat to Isaac and excused himself out of the tent. It was better to leave, he wasn't sure if it was his jealousy that was putting him on edge or if Isaac was actually unreliable. 

What he needed to do was get another drink. The party was in full swing as he dodged through the milling crowd.

Eames had grabbed himself another two drinks, making sure to take his time between them. It wouldn't do to actually get roaring drunk and he figured Arthur had a point about alcohol and medicine mixing. It was more of a pleasant buzz for now and he was not as tense anymore, just looking up at the flames once again and chatting with people who wandered by. Ariadne had popped by before disappearing into the crowd, but not before admonishing him for abandoning Arthur in the clutches of something he couldn't quite hear over the din and music. Still, no matter what she had said, he felt inclined to agree, no matter how silly the thought and the whole situation seemed. There was nothing outright wrong and for all he knew he was just projecting. Neither the drinks nor the fresh air held much of an answer.

Arthur and Isaac reappeared after a while, making their way through the crowd. Whatever details they had been resolving didn't seem to have gone as well as planned, not according to Arthur's dissatisfied expression. Or something else hadn't gone well. He waved from his seat, the log still open since many people were gearing up for a dance, the beginnings of a tune finally starting to lilt through the air.

They made their way over, Arthur weaving his way gracefully through the crowd and Isaac bungling behind him. When they sat, Arthur took his usual guard position on Eames' right, and Isaac dragged up a log on Arthur's other side. Clearly not something to Arthur's liking. "Do you still have that drink?" Arthur asked, leaning in.

"Hmm, no, I lost track of it when I followed you. What's wrong?" He was still relaxed, attentive but not on his last nerve, even with Isaac's persistent reappearance. It would be best to keep it that way, after Arthur had gone through all the trouble to bring the man up to speed and, truly, an extra pair of hands would not go amiss. Maybe he should practice being charming and nice instead of whatever it was he was doing before.

"Nothing," Arthur answered, resigned, then raising his voice as the music died down: "I'm going to get a drink."

"No need, I'll take care of that," Isaac said, clapping Arthur on the thigh as he stood and made his way through the throngs of people and towards the ever present line.

Oh, no, he was definitely not projecting. The feeling welled up once more and he glared at Isaac's disappearing back. At this rate he was bound to say something stupid, but for some reason he couldn't be arsed anymore. He was probably going daft, he hadn't been this jealous in a long, long time and for no reason at all. It was embarrassing and frustrating and was not helping him catch his own reins whatsoever. 

"Nothing, eh? I pretty much gathered that you were showing him the damages but I didn't realize I was interrupting your M.O. of sleeping with whoever you need something from, my apologies, a little warning next time would you?" And there he went. Still, it was obviously not nothing and should Eames have touched him like that he was almost certain he would get aggressive hissing, not the subtle stiffening. He was roiling, not matter how he tried to stop himself, and leaned away with a huff, already regretting saying what he did but finding no words that would instantly salvage the situation. Gods, it wasn't as if Arthur had spurned any of his own open advances, because he hadn't made any, and he hadn't shown keen interest in Isaac either so why in the 'Verse was he so angry?

Arthur stood almost immediately, anger clear on his features. "That's rich coming from you, fucking asshole. And it's your ship, not mine, and I've already made it clear I don't care if I get off this rock. So if I had been planning on doing anything it would have been for your sake." He took a steadying breath, recovering some of his lost composure, but not all, "I don't have to tell you anything because I don't owe you a damn thing, but how's this: the bed's all yours tonight." Arthur said, looming over Eames to be heard.

"For my sake? Are you really pulling the sleeping on the couch card, because that's a new low, there, darling, lower than the nesting thing, it's not like there's anything going on. I have lived thirty odd years without a nightlight, so if you stayed it was your choice the whole time. You wanna leave, go ahead. And since when have I demanded anything from you? All I was saying was that a little warning wouldn't go amiss, you could sleep with the whole village for all I care." They weren't even causing a scene over the noise and he let Arthur loom all he liked, refusing to be even a smidgen intimidated. Eames was obviously in the wrong, but he outright refused to feel sorry for it, as soon as Arthur went on the defensive. Now that he made his bed he might as well lay in it. Probably better that way anyway. Messing up all the effort he put into bringing Arthur close, all ruined, good job, Eames, maybe he should go into that business instead.

"My mistake," Arthur said bitterly, dry sarcasm thick and encasing every syllable, "I didn't realize you were a prude, your tongue down my throat said otherwise. But you're right, when you're going to fuck someone, it should be based on something real, like their appearance, or because you're bored and there happens to be another person in the vicinity. I shouldn't have doubted your pure intentions. And I just gave you a warning," he hissed, "the bed is all yours and I don't plan on sleeping on the floor. And since you, rightly," he added, "don't care why don't you keep your surprisingly bitchy small town ideas about sex to yourself. If Isaac wants to help, and I want to thank him for it by giving him what he wants, I don't see a problem. It's a hell of a lot better than what you did!"

Eames was close to speechless now, trying to put together where Arthur was getting all this information from because it was all news to him. He'd said nothing of the sort, after all and "bitchy small town ideas"? What the hell? He stood and all but butted heads with Arthur, so it was easier to hear without him needing to shout. "Are you just making things up now? Still operating on some sort of, oh, let me think, _big city prejudice_ that I, one," he put up a finger for emphasis, "am from a rural planet and therefore purdish and two," another finger, "just like you for you appearance, which happens to contradict your first idea because I would assume in that case I would try to take the pretty officer home to get married and have twenty kids before either succumbing to alcoholism or getting run through by heavy machinery. Yet all I said was if you're going to sleep around, as your bedmate I would need to know, for Christ's sake, so I would have time to both find other lodgings or know not to wait up - so your warning is noted and taken to heart, no matter how belated it may come. Or since it wasn't the case, as you've made abundantly clear, you can just tell me, so I don't draw farfetched conclusions due to lack of information as you are apparently fond of doing. Which is why I asked in the first place." He still wasn't looking forward to his eventual loss of this argument.

Arthur firmed his stance, holding himself rigid and balling his fists. "The contradiction was the point, asshole, because you didn't just ask me to tell you. You assumed I was going to fuck him because he was offering to do something for us, that I would fuck anyone to get what I want as if that's somehow worse than whatever half-assed reason you had for trying to sleep with me. And I told you nothing was happening, I answered your goddamn question and you still accused me of using him. Because it's not possible that I like him, or we both just want a quick fuck, or that I told you the fucking truth when you asked, no, you had to make your bitchy little remark. You fucking hypocrite." Arthur bit out, his anger far from diffused.

"I assumed because you said _nothing_ like it like it was none of my business, which I guess it's not, but it wasn't nothing. What truth did you tell me, then? I accused you of using me actually, although I willingly went along in your little game of spies and robbers and I never made the first move although you ended up forgetting between all the drinking and are just using the fact whether consciously or not, to defend your point. Because what am I supposed to think, you come on to me and then forget it all only moments later, wasn't there something about eight months? And I'm not crying anything, I said you could do whatever you wanted, I'm just- no, I already have my answer, don't I? I'm sorry for my remark, I'll try to be more gracious next time you-" he couldn't come up with a suitable word. 

"What about on Persephone? You kissed me, and I let you because you led me to believe we'd already fucked, so what was the point in fighting it?" Arthur tried.

Eames threw up his hands. "Just go, leave, since there's nothing I can say to convince you otherwise." Tangled in his own web now, Eames congratulated himself, gently pressing his fingers to Arthur's chest to push him backwards. His head needed clearing again and he would have ample time for that, with the three hours of sleep he would be getting tonight.

"Fine," Arthur spat out before turning and storming away.

Oh, good - no, not good, Eames turned away so he didn't have to watch Arthur join Isaac in the line for drinks. It was what he'd said he wanted, wasn't it. He was a mess, pushing away enough to hurt and wanting to tie Arthur to him in every way he knew how, he should just drown and smother everything inside of him like a sack of kittens, so he wouldn't have to deal with them anymore. He only vaguely heard his name called out, ducking through the moving crowd towards the periphery. Who had the time for such merriment, anyway, a bunch of wasteful idiots who would do well to figure it out once they were stuck here for another year or ten.

He'd messed up badly and he had no way of fixing it, not that he could see. Sure, he'd started, out of jealousy and maybe the alcohol had helped that along. But Arthur was vicious. It was a mistake to let him in at all, he hadn't realized that when he reached out like that - it was a two way road and he was mistaken to think he would be safe and that he wouldn't hurt Arthur, either. No, he had to destroy everything for real this time, not the half assed attempt at a compromise that he'd come to before. In the end he'd only ruin it anyway, what was the sense in trying again? He'd be back to normal in no time and there was plenty of work to distract him. 

The air was cooler away from the fire and he ducked into the darkness behind one of the other tents, not even marveling at the lack of actual shadow on the planet's surface anymore. And now his head hurt, as well, eyes dry and stinging, all of which he ignored in favor of sitting on the ground. Why had he thought this was a good idea in the first place?

"So, mind filling me in what just happened?" Ariadne said as she crouched down near him, clearly trying to keep her tone casual.

Eames flinched, further angered with himself that he was disappointed that it was only Ariadne. "Nothing, what would have happened at some other point in time if not now. And I need a smoke." He pursed his lips, before shaking his head and pressing his incisor into his thumb. It only helped a little bit and he shook his hand out, only more frustrated than he had been. He would pace but he didn't foresee that helping much either. And here he thought they'd not made that much of a scene. Ari had probably been looking for them and they had split off. Perfect, he must look upset, on top of it all.

Ariadne took a mouthful of whiskey and sat down. There was a chant building in the background but Eames ignored both it and her getting comfortable. "He'll come around eventually, he's just trying to be careful. What did he say this time?"

"It was me this time," Eames ran his hands through his hair, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. This would be the point where he would quip something about why would it be Arthur that said anything, but it was statistically true. Or something about her bringing over ice cream and chick flicks next, but he really was not in the mood. "I might have called him... I might have insinuated he habitually uses people and pays them back with sexual favors because I was too much of a chicken to admit that I was being stupidly possessive." Gods it sounded even worse put that way and he groaned, pressing his palms harder into his sockets.

"It all quickly went downhill after that, for which I really don't blame him. I should have known, I can't even keep my own bloody mouth shut and I fancied that I'd never hurt him, that I'd protect him, ha! So much for that. Who's laughing now? Instead, I'm here having a pity party and he's off carousing with that fucking welder he dug up, why am I such an asshole, fuck. There, you're up to speed, feel free to return to the party while I get a good grip on myself and stop acting like a teenager."

"So, you called him a slut, and he went off with Isaac?" Ariadne said after a bit of a pause. The silence stretched a little bit longer. She must be drunk. "Wow, Eames, god, why would you even say that? What did he do?" Oh, now she got it. "You've got to go apologize, how have you not already done that? Jesus, would you just tell him how you feel?" She stood, trying to drag him up to stand just as a cheer erupted from the party.

"I have, I did apologize, I tried to salvage it, but I couldn't! How am I supposed to do it now? In the middle of a crowd to boot, hell, it's hard to hear myself think out there." Eames stood, afraid she'd break something if she tried to lift him any harder. "But what's the point? I'll just as soon say something else stupid as soon as someone looks at him funny. It's probably better this way, he doesn't want me anyway and if he can't forgive me for giving him a false name when we first met, of all the things, there's no way he's going to let this go." He carefully stepped around the plate and drink, refusing to go any farther, looking away. "It'll be better if he just goes with Isaac, wouldn't it? It would give him more choices than just be stuck with me all the time. I'm almost fully healed and he owes me no debt."

Ariadne made a frustrated and strangled noise, letting go of Eames to shake her hands at his face. "Eames! He does though, c'mon, you said you were good with people, even I can tell he at least wants to be friends." She took a deep breath before continuing: "You can't insist you want to be his friend, and then when he shows interest in someone else just give up on being friends. That's really messed up, because now you're using him, telling him if he wants to be friends he has to be with you. And, Eames, you know he needs friends."

"I never said that, I just- he needs space, I need space so I just stop wanting him so much, because you're right, that would be using him and why letting him go to Isaac would give him more of a choice." He paused, grimacing. "Because Lord knows I've made myself clear and he doesn't want me and the only solution is for me to forget it but I can't and I end up ruining even the platonic relationship we have. Why are we having this argument when that is crystal clear?" It was easier to just say it all out loud, the pent up energy behind his barricades that he didn't like to acknowledge spilling out of him. It was nothing he wasn't aware of but it was better to air out his concerns, anyone with eyes could see how stupid he was to even let the feeling fester.

Ariadne softened, and she watched Eames with doleful eyes like he was something to be pitied. "You sure you made it clear?" Ariadne tried hesitantly.

"Yes, I did, it was before the crash, when I knew all the boundary bullshit was exactly that and now we've been swinging back and forth about it and why is it so hard to reconcile the two..?" Friendship and lust and Eames didn't remember when he'd had this much of a problem before. "And don't look at me like that, it's not like I'm in love with the bastard or anything - it's only been a bit more than a week and I've been half dead for at least a third of it." He'd sworn himself off of that track for certain, there was no questioning it. Still, it was like shoving together puzzle pieces from many different sets and he was out of his own depth for once. "We've gone off topic anyway, this has nothing to do with me. I'll just- apologize again, as soon as I get the chance and we can go our merry, no doubt somewhat chilly, little ways wherever they may take us."

"If that's what you want to do," Ariadne said, voice a little dull, like she didn't agree. "I'm going to get back to the party, then." She sounded even more off, like...

Eames paused, furrowing his eyebrows. "I swear to god, if this gets back to Morena-" It had gotten back to her before, purposefully or not and he didn't know if he was desperate enough to allow her interference. Ariadne just gaped at him for a moment - he knew it, the little snitch - before. "Would it placate you if I showed you? I can try to talk to Arthur now and you can see how pointless an endeavor it will be. And if... I would hate to hurt him again. But I suppose he has fair warning now." It would be easier to do this, now that he thought of it, prove it to both her and himself once and for all. It was probably not best to run away, either, he might as well, do it now, get it over with. "And then everyone can go back to the party and enjoy themselves immensely." He snorted, shaking his head. As if. But he could try.

"I- I don't know, Eames, if you're going to go in like it's pointless, if you're not even going to try, maybe... maybe you shouldn't. I just mean, maybe you should wait."

"You said I should, fuck, I don't know. You think I don't want to make it all better? I just think... I'd never go in expecting to lose but it's the most likely outcome." He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to weigh the odds. They weren't good, if he tried now, if he waited, it would all go to hell sooner rather than later. But a sincere apology wouldn't hurt anyone would it? Besides Eames himself, when it was likely thrown back in his face but he was prepared for that, wasn't he? He wasn't sure they would be able to find Arthur anyway, not if the two had fucked off someplace more private. "It's better than to just let it fester, or sit myself in a rut, wouldn't you say?" At least the need to smoke wasn't as prominent, but he'd like a toothpick at the least. Neither of the frivolities were readily accessible, however and he had to settle without.

"That was before you said all the other stuff," Ariadne defended, "you're the one that knows Arthur."

"Stop playing Devil's Advocate. And I've barely got a foot in the door, with the knowing Arthur business, and it's not like I want to sit back here all night. I have a feeling we won't even be able to find him, not in the crowd." If he hadn't left altogether, which he tried to take with as little bitterness as possible. And there was no sense in waiting, either, so he ducked back into the light, narrowly avoiding stepping on Ariadne's plate and drink. It was far brighter around the fire than his eyes were used to, and he squared his shoulders, squinting, trying to adjust.

The party was still going on but a lot of attention was centered on the drink line where... He might have underestimated how easy it would be to find Arthur but nowhere in his predictions did he factor in Arthur being the center of attention, guzzling down shots. There were what looked like half a dozen empty glasses already on the table and Arthur was in the process of drinking another.

Eames had only been gone for maybe ten or fifteen minutes by his count, how did this happen so quickly? He slipped through the crowd, trying to go for medium, for some sort of center - not too fast but not too slow either and only slightly tense. Then again, maybe leaving Arthur alone with alcohol was not a good idea after all, but Eames had thought the first time was more of a gambit than a habit and he wasn't alone, there was a whole crowd of gaggling idiots, including Isaac, who he managed not to glare at. Just barely as well, because besides all other points, Arthur had unbalanced and slipped, and Isaac was trying to pick him up by his middle - who in their right minds did that? He tried for neutral as best as possible, nearing enough to offer support without touching Arthur and to not have to shout, making sure not to close Isaac out of the conversation.

"Heey, I'm sorry I left, darling, I never imagined it could lead to this. Would you like to talk to me, or is it better we let you pass out someplace comfortable until morning?" Maybe it was too late to apologize now, but he offered his help anyway, carefully trying to judge exactly how intoxicated Arthur was, although his bet was on totally, considering the span of time that passed from perfectly sober to losing all sorts of motor functions.

Arthur just kicked Isaac in his attempt to squirm his way out of the hold. "I have a talk," Arthur said, trying to accept Eames offered support and move away from Isaac. He kneeled, attempting to ascertain the degree of damage Arthur took from the fall. It wasn't much but still, he didn't glare at Isaac, he wouldn't, that had gotten him nowhere, instead keeping his eyes on Arthur.

"Here, I've got him," Isaac said, forcing Arthur to shout back, "No, I have a talk," and he had two fistfuls of Eames' shirt which was making supporting and not just hugging Arthur very difficult.

"Okay, you're out of it- he's out of it," Eames stated, looking up this time and brokering no argument. If only by the shouting in rather close spaces and Arthur was all but clinging on to him now, he hadn't actually expected any of this, automatically bracing a hand between Arthur's shoulder blades, taking his weight as the crowd, including Isaac, backed off. Shit. He never should have left, although it somehow didn't add up that his absence could reduce Arthur, of all people, to such a state. And now he owed what was probably yet another debt to Ariadne and Morena for herding the nosy drunkards off. He was far too sober for this. "Come on, let's find you a nice quiet place to sit and talk alright?" 

That was hardly in the cards, Arthur was bound to pass out at any moment, and even still remember none of this in the morning. He sighed heavily, attempting to untangle Arthur's hand from his shirt to sling it across his own shoulders to help him stand up and walk. "You can barely stand as it is and my ears are ringing already from this noise, up we go, come now."

"Listen, listen, listen," Arthur insisted as they made their slow and stumbling way from the crowd. "Shoulder, hey, your shoulder."

"My shoulder's fine, it's on the other side." Eames had made sure to pull Arthur towards his left and curl the arm that was around his shoulders more towards his neck, putting the weight off his right. Good grief, if he could carry Arthur he would have done just that. Instead Eames led him away, as steadily as he could, towards their tent. It was farther away from the bonfire and towards the edge of town, quieter and darker. "And I'm listening, if you have something to say."

"Don't talk - me," Arthur tried to order before quieting and apparently taking a moment to collect his thoughts. By the time he started speaking again, Eames had already deposited him safely and carefully on the bed, kneeling beside it. "Okay, listen, I am expression myself, and you, you are being a shit friend - shit friend, so I, I have to be the good one and I don't care. I don't caaaare, that you said, you fucking said to go away, because you don't decide friends. Other people. And I am other people now, so we're friends, okay?" Eames just blinked at him, uncomprehending. "And I know we're friends, I fucking know, because you smile at me all the damn time, when I didn't even do anything, and you always help with things and stuff." Arthur rubbed at his neck, trying to sit up and ending up in a half sprawl. "And I know I'm friend, because it hurt. It hurt when you said to go. And I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he hiccupped this time and were those - tears? Holy shit. "I'm sorry I was a bad friend first, but don't. Don't ma-make me leave when I don't want to go. You, you are the only good thing I have right now, don't, don't take it away too, please. I can't." Arthur tried to curl in on himself and Eames just hovered, distressed and unsure what to do. He'd parsed most of the meaning and it didn't make him feel much better.

"Oh dear, Arthur, Arthur, I'm not leaving, I'm sorry I said anything, you're other people, you're right and the good friend who I hurt and I'm so, so sorry for it. Shush now, darling, I'm not leaving and we're friends and I'll always help with things and stuff." Gods where had he gone so wrong? If Arthur needed him and he'd just walked away, shit, he was ready to ignore any bit of himself for this. And his heart was bleeding because of it and if he could just make Arthur see that much, Arthur would know Eames would never leave. For now all he had was words. He shifted, running his palm along Arthur's face. "If you need me I will never, ever leave, luv, I'll always be right here, shush now, don't cry." He was such an idiot. What was he going to do with this second chance but fuck it up? But there was little choice even in his own mind to just try as hard as he could to just let go of that part, focus on Arthur and being Arthur's good thing. It'd been a while since he was any sort of a good thing.

Arthur pressed his face against the hand then tried to grab at Eames' shirt, pulling at it in what Eames took as an invitation to sit. "I got mad, but I was going to stay. Fight. Difference. I was going to be difference, not scared." A small sob escaped, and Arthur shuddered, "Fuck. I did not want drunk."

"You'll get undrunk soon enough. I'm glad you wanted to stay, I wanted you to stay, and I'm glad Ariadne managed to talk me into talking myself into coming back." He moved both hands to Arthur's face now that his shoulder would allow it, stroking his cheeks gently with his thumbs. Arthur was calming down but he was loathe to let go, not when Arthur seemed out the pressure of his hands. "Is this drunk thing a habit I should be aware of, Arthur? Do I have to monitor your drink intake or is this a one- two time mistake?"

"I don't drunk all the time," Arthur said, a little exasperated, "I was - a complicated with you, and then you said go." There was a pause. "I was going to one drunk - drink, and then Isaac, people. Lots of drunk. I had a bucket once, Mal and Dom's wedding," he said, smiling at the memory. He started to slump, and then reflex kicked in and he flailed to remain somewhat upright.

Eames sighed, withdrawing his hands for balance. Arthur seemed to be past his breakdown and his shoulder was starting to twinge, already overexerted. "A bucket, Arthur, really? Where does all that even fit in your skinny bones? Does spilling most of it on yourself even count as a bucket?" So it was a problem apparently, because as far as he could tell, Arthur misjudged his own limits constantly. Now he was tired and he hadn't had time to light the lamp when he entered, so the darkness wasn't helping. Still, he'd stay put for now, until he was sure Arthur wasn't going to throw up and eventually passed out.

"Bones aren't skinny, that's not, and seventeen, everything fit, fucking always hungry," Arthur mumbled. He slumped again, this time landing on Eames so he didn't bother to push himself up. "Hey, 'm I still skinny?" he asked as he pushed against Eames, apparently trying to prove he wasn't.

Eames rolled his eyes, trying to settle them into a more comfortable position, hands traitorously around Arthur's waist. "Would you like me to tell you that you're fat?" he challenged, viciously ignoring everything about him that wanted to take advantage, easier to do now, when he was this sober. There was little but a shoddy substitute that he could steal here, even a kiss would be worth little unless Arthur was all there. He shut his eyes for a fraction of a second, breathing out, before hoisting his knee on the bed so he could stop twisting around. "Or that you're the strongest and shiniest noble knight in the cavalry? The prettiest princess?"

Arthur laughed, loudly. "Both," he decided, "and you, you would farm the pigs." And now Arthur was cracking up, shaking with laughter, and the only reason he wasn't face first on the bed was because he was already face first against Eames. It subsided quickly, and Arthur was out, entirely limp.

Eames sighed, carefully letting Arthur go, letting him unfold onto the mattress. Not that even a less gentle drop would have woken him, not now. He realized too late that it had been the wrong way, Arthur's head ending up where their feet were usually, but it would be too much effort to move him now. He rescued the pillows instead, tucking one under Arthur's head and ridding him of his shoes. Eames would have to sleep with his back to the door, which was unfortunate, but he was too tired to really care. It had been far too long and too tumultuous and confusing of a day by his tastes. Still, he headed out, failing to find Ariadne and having to summarize for Morena that Arthur had gone to sleep and he was heading off, as well. Suffering through knowing looks was probably better than getting pulled into the dancing, or accidentally running into Isaac. 混蛋。

Arthur was still in the same position when he returned after a shower and he had to work to pull the blanket out from underneath him. At least it worked and he let the blanket fall, rubbing at his own eyes. Sleep would do him well, he would have enough time for his emotional state to settle out, forget and calm, without rushing any opinions or decisions that he hadn't already made. He shed his shirt, still not in the habit of sleeping fully dressed, and crawled in gingerly, making sure to keep some space after pushing Arthur further to his side. It was for the best. Seconds later, he was asleep.

It wasn't long before abstract and anxious dreams started up but Arthur shifted and when Eames woke on the heels of just a shadow of a nightmare, they were curled up together, Arthur having moved into his space. His face was pressed into Eames' neck and arms curled around his waist, creating comfort that hadn't been offered. Eames could only blink sleepily and settle in, palm on Arthur's ribs and one knee between Arthur's, falling straight back into dreamless sleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

The morning was a different story. He woke to cold and when he opened his eyes, there was nothing there for him but rumpled sheets and the bland, blank wall of the tent barely even visible in the darkness. There was movement behind him and he turned over, sitting up sharply.

Arthur was packing, of course, he could feel his stomach sink painfully, looking between the rucksack and Arthur himself, already holding the pad. "I thought... I thought Ariadne said we weren't going anywhere in the morning," he started, hoping that was all it was. But of course it wouldn't be so simple, Arthur had likely forgotten everything about last night, everything both of them had said swept away by the alcohol. Probably well on his way to working himself up terribly about it - but he had said he didn't want to leave, so why was he walking out now? "I... About last night, I came to apologize before you for all I'd said..." He swung his legs off the bed, looking down. The drunken forgiveness hadn't made him feel any less guilty then and it certainly hadn't now. 

Arthur ignored him, only stopping as the tent flap was raised to admit prickling sunlight. Eames squinted, turning away from the door, waiting for it to go back to darkness but Yusuf left it open forcing him to have to adjust. If he could, he would tell Yusuf to just go, because he needed to make Arthur understand but he wasn't exactly going to chase away the good doctor. He stayed quiet as Yusuf crossed his arms.

"And how are we doing after last night?" He knew, of course, Eames realized, grimacing. Might have even seen. it was a small village after all. "Arthur, you have stitches that need taking out," Yusuf stated, indicating the chair, "and I assume you haven't been monitoring Eames - he most likely doesn't need his bandages anymore." A tut. "I leave for two days..."

Arthur sat without saying a word, still, lifting his shirt obediently for Yusuf who turned on the lantern then whistled piercingly, inspecting the stitching. Eames might not have the extent of the hangover that Arthur did but he could tell Yusuf was just being mean.

"Eames, that is some of the worst stitching I have ever seen," Yusuf said, "did you use your foot?"

"I did it," Arthur growled, hoping it would get him at least a few moments of quiet.

It must have be after the crash. Eames took his chance to unravel his bandages, staying mostly quiet. He would talk Yusuf off but he knew the man meant well, mostly, and prolonging an argument would only worsen Arthur's headache. At least they still had the water tank and he scooped up the bottle, dunking and shaking it off before handing it to Arthur. It was nice to flex and touch his shoulder and he scratched mindlessly at the stitches, enjoying the feeling..

"There, you've got a little bit of scarring, but it healed fine." Yusuf said, then absently offered Eames some over the counter dosage of ibuprofen. "Drink that water, stay in bed like a normal person after a night of binge drinking. Seven glasses in less than ten minutes." Yusuf's voice got louder, "I hope you learned your lesson." 

Arthur glared, but took a big gulp of water, while Yusuf addressed Eames at a more acceptable volume. "He'll be fine, you know the drill with hangovers. Water, crackers, some more sleep. A scalp massage if you don't value your fingers," Yusuf laughed, ignoring Arthur's sour look.

"Thank you," Eames said, keeping his voice at a minimum, nodding at Yusuf as he moved on to likely the next patient before looking back at Arthur. Ten minutes? Truly, Arthur overreached this time, he was surprised he'd even lasted long enough to even say anything - the first time it had been far less of a binge and he'd still remembered nothing. "Will you listen to Yusuf as a doctor if not me?" he asked, wondering if he should close the flap and turn off the lantern. Kalidasa would soon be pouring light into the windows but it would at least be a temporary relief. "And if you are set on leaving, know that I'll be coming with you." He made a promise, even if Arthur didn't remember it, and he was going to stick to it if Arthur said he wanted him to or not.

Arthur gave him a dark and disgusted look, but climbed back into the bed, putting the pillows back towards the headboard then rolled over on his side, putting his back to Eames.

"You can drop the act," Arthur said, "Made it pretty obvious last night that if I do something you don't like, you'll kick me right out. So, lesson learned."

"I'm not going to kick you out," Eames stated gently, taking a seat on the chair. If there was something he could tap into it was his patience and he was in the wrong this time. There was little Arthur could do to make Eames believe the blistery shell, not after last night. Sure, he had been drunk but that didn't change the meaning or especially the sincerity of what he had said. "If you need me at all, I won't leave you." He stretched out his legs, folding his hands on his lap, leaning back. They were going to be here for a long time, it seemed, and maybe he would be able to convince Arthur that he meant what he said.

"So you've said," Arthur volleyed, staring resolutely at the dark green of the tent wall, "you're very good with words. It's a good thing I don't need you, because that's all you've got."

"So I am. But that wasn't what you said before. Which, of course, you don't remember." Eames sighed, looking around in the dim light so he didn't have to stare at Arthur's tense shoulders, eye falling on the small metal case of toothpicks. Arthur really did see every single detail through and he smiled besides himself, taking it into his hands and sliding it open. "Thank you for the toothpicks," he murmured, snapping it shut again, weighing it in his hands. How it didn't get lost in the tumult of the crash was odd, had Arthur taken the time to search through all the displaced things for it? Jesus. And he'd leaned on Arthur for that, too. He'd only meant that the were acting like a couple, when they weren't, and he couldn't even place the origin of his bitterness about it. "I'm sorry for what I said, you know, all of it. I don't know what came over me and I ruined a perfectly good evening." This was all he had, really, just to be as pigheaded about it was possible, which was thankfully not a grand change to his character at all. "Do you want a grammar corrected version of last night or would you rather stay in the dark about it?" It would be easier to argue if the both had the, well, yes, they were facts after all. Of course, Arthur could just assume he was making it all up, but he'd mentioned something about the wedding of his friends... A sigh. He didn't want to argue, it felt selfish to try and convince Arthur that he wanted Eames, that he'd said so, and Arthur could simply deny it.

Arthur shifted unhappily, his discomfort with the conversation manifesting in each sinew and cord of muscle. "No. I don't need to know what I said while I was drunk Eames. And I don't need your interpretation, and I'll remind you again, I was drunk." 

"You were drunk but you were honest. I can give you a non redacted version as well. About how you drank a bucket once at a wedding and therefore you would be fine, obviously." Now he was fishing, but it was better than nothing. He would like nothing more but to soothe him, take Yusuf's advice and stroke the headache and tension away. He stood, instead, taking a seat at the very edge of the bed, almost hovering, tucking the toothpick case in his pocket having already taken one out. "You were honest and convinced me. I'll apologize to you on my knees if it will make a difference."

"Convinced you?" Arthur asked, turning at the waist to look at Eames. "You're really going to use my abandonment issues in this. No fucking shit, I came crawling back to you, I probably begged too," and he rolled back over. "Did you let me suck your cock, or was that too low for you?"

"You didn't. I came to you and I apologized and you called me a shit friend and that it was not my place to decide whether we were over or not." He summarily ignored the last outburst, pursing his lips. "And I'm sorry I pushed you away, I thought it was what you wanted, you've said it enough times that I'd started to believe it. I don't want you to go anywhere especially if you don't want to. When you truly think it's time to part, I won't stop you. And I'm sorry about what I said about your sexual proclivities, I should neither have supposed anything nor judged you for it."

"What happened, exactly," Arthur asked, trying to stay guarded even as he rolled over to face Eames. He was willing to listen at least and Eames thanked the gods for small mercies. "And I did warn you, I'm not... I'm not good at this. Any of it."

"Well, there were tears and you said you wanted to be a pretty princess-" Eames started, keeping up a serious face, just to be annoying. "Then you called me a pig farmer and passed out," he did finally chuckle now, all of it sounding even more ridiculous out of context than in it. It didn't matter that if it was or wasn't true, he didn't fault Arthur for it, just poked fun and Arthur's ears went red even as he glared. It was adorable.

"You said that we were friends and you knew that because it hurt and because I smile when you haven't even done anything and I help with things and stuff, what these things and stuff were exactly, I'm not sure. And you told me that you didn't want me to make you leave, because I'm a good thing and you didn't want that good thing to be taken away from you, that you had tried to stay even thought you were angry. After that it devolved into gibberish with the bucket and if you were skinny or not and the princesses, but that's the gist of it." He propped his chin up on his hand, looking a little bit into the distance. "You've already said that you're not good at this many times, but I'm just... scared I'm pushing something that doesn't exist on your side. After all, it's been a little over a week on this stupid planet and we've already been in, out, happy, angry, laconic and and loquacious in turns. That's never happened, either, so don't suppose I magically know what I'm doing, either, or that I won't break and say something stupid again."

Arthur pushed himself up, grimacing at what was probably the nausea taking hold again before taking a moment to collect himself. "You are a good thing," he said, as if forcing himself to confirm it, "mostly. I mean, you liked me, in spite of what I did, what I was planning to do. You were worried about me, back on Persephone, and even when I said I was planning to arrest you. I've never really had that. Even, even with Mal and Dom there was still that," Arthur floundered before changing tracks, "I had to be a perfect soldier, or I felt like I did. And I still don't understand why you seem to like me half as much as you do, but I don't entirely understand why I like you either, so. There."

"Well, what's there not to like about you? Besides the, you know," he waved his hand airily, indicating nothing and everything at the same time. "You're smart, quite resourceful for a city boy, on the ball and you do have a sense of humour, even if you try to hide it all the time, for reasons unknown. And who hasn't wanted to arrest me once or twice?" Eames half shrugged, smiling. "And do you think I just suddenly decided to walk into the station on a whim? I do it all the time and all I get are eager to please idiots or slow dolts who don't know where their own legs grow out of. I couldn't let someone who'd caught me so cleanly in his orbit just go on a useless suicide run. That would be the biggest waste of a great person." There was more to it, of course, that Arthur forced him to be honest, was brutal towards even the smallest lie, that he made him work for smiles but brought him everything material that he could. He could go on, but that would mean admitting that it wasn't just a physical attraction and he wasn't allowing that thought, not even with the overwhelming evidence. "That and making you believe we slept together was kind of funny," he added, unable to resist.

Arthur smiled faintly, but looked down at his lap, then the wall, then shook his head and looked back to Eames. "The worst part is, if we could go back, you could press charges for that. I would have to go to my neighbors and report that I'm a sexual offender. They're seventy-eight and seventy-three, and they've known me since I was an infant."

"That I'd like to see, but not so much that I want to testify in front of a bunch of people that you took advantage of me. Because who would believe that, really, more likely I was trying to swindle you out of some money and there's no way I could look convincingly broken up about it, had it even really happened." He shrugged again, palms facing upward. It wasn't like he hadn't wanted it. "And should it even go through, it would scare all the pretty girls away from your neighborhood, what fun would that be? If there were any to start with, what with neighbors in their seventies. Sounds frightfully dull." Why Eames would even still be around in their scenario was questionable in the first place. "I would be a liar anyway, since we were both perfectly drunk and came to a perfectly mutual conclusion that the situation just couldn't be helped. Speaking of which, was pointing out how flexible and satisfactory a lover you are really necessary back there?" It was really still funny, like Arthur had been trying to prove something to someone who should already have known.

Arthur gave another small shake of his head, "It still looked bad, handsome, supposed tourist drops by, his ship landlocked immediately despite previous clearances for leaving, and then we're spotted heading up to a hotel room and by the following morning the lock is lifted. You wouldn't have needed to say much. And I thought if I had shown any embarrassment, or reluctance to talk about it, you'd make it worse. Or assume you were a special case. I've been having sex since I was sixteen, it's not a big deal."

Eames laughed, tilting his head back. "I probably would have made it worse, so you weren't far off already." He made no comment regarding not being a special case - he'd made the mistake of assuming the same already and it'd almost ended tragically. It stood to reason that he was a special case after all and that tickled him, like he'd won some secret prize. But while they were on the topic. "I never thought it was a big deal. But lucky you, I was so good at talking that I wound up being taught sex ed on a live example at fourteen by an upperclassman. I think I avoided all girls for at least a month afterwards, I was so shocked. Adult-me thinks it was a bit too tender of an age to start and it doesn't feature one as my brightest memory either, I must say." It was fine now, when he fully realized what he was doing but he'd been too good at being likeable. When he'd lied about it, he was made fun of by the girls and when he told the truth he was met with hostile jealousy from the boys. At least it had been quickly forgotten. "Certainly a lesson that taught me you can't please everyone in the same class, never mind the whole 'Verse."

Arthur's good humor dropped almost immediately and Eames could tell he shouldn't have said anything. Arthur was already starting to overthink. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, awkward.

"Why, do you think I have issues about it?" Eames raised his eyebrows. "It wasn't the most stellar introduction but I'm not hung up about it - obviously. If you want to know, I don't mind telling you, but it's something that's been digested a while ago. There's also only so much blame you can pin on a seventeen year old girl, no one is exactly at their wisest at that age. I think she liked me, too, which makes the whole thing a hell of a way to go about it. I'm glad you're concerned though, it's very sweet of you." He smiled, tilting his head to lean his temple on his hand. "I'm assuming your foray at sixteen was more enjoyable?"

"She was old enough to know better," Arthur asserted, relaxing a bit anyway. "And of course I'm concerned, we're," and he was still having trouble with the word, "friends. And yes. It was considerably better." Clearly that was something Arthur didn't want to share. Probably for the best given Eames' history of reaction to the topic. The pause stretched and Eames was about to move on before Arthur started again. "So, how did it happen?"

"It wasn't anything so out of the ordinary, just hanging around after school once for lack of anything better to do. It's getting late and Kyla, that was her name, comes over to tell me that my parents had to leave, which happened sometimes, and her parents were inviting me over for dinner. Which was fine by me and actually it was all true: I came home to an empty house that evening. After dinner, she invited me upstairs to 'show me' something, which turned out to be her breasts of course, a huge yes for any boy at that age.

"Then of course she's goading me on, locking the door, pulling my shirt over my head and I'm starting to lose the direction where this is going, there's just lots of skin everywhere and what's a condom, that feels gross, until she'd already sitting on me, saying oh isn't this nice. I'm just horribly confused, torn between fear and pleasure and it lasts for all of a couple of seconds, to what should have been no one's surprise. After that I think her mum's knocking on the door, asking what we were arguing about. I think she knew as soon as she saw my face, though, even though we both got dressed at something approaching the speed of light. I ran home crying after that, skipped school for a couple of days. Of course my mum knew something was up, too, but she never pressed me for it. I think Kyla tried to get me to talk to her so she could apologize, but I avoided her like the plague. Then she disappeared, either they moved away because her parents didn't want it to get out, or she moved out with relatives or ran away, but the lights in their house were off more than not, at least when I stopped taking the long way around. That's about it, really, it's nothing so horrid."

Arthur looked torn for a moment, like he was considering upbraiding Eames for making light out of it. But what was he supposed to do, carry the burden his whole life? "Would you want to know what happened to her?" he asked finally.

A laugh and Eames shook his head, waving dismissively. "Nah, that would be too much of a temptation to go visit and that would accomplish nothing. I would like to imagine she's happily married with a family, there's no sense in wanting anything else. She knew she was in the wrong and that's good enough. But as touched as I am by your concern, I feel like that story could not have made your hangover any better." Eames looked back at Arthur, trying to judge the amount of pain the other was in. "Would you like some more water? A scalp massage, as Yusuf had suggested?" He grinned this time, recalling that only minutes before Arthur had been actually liable to bite his hands off. Aside from his fascination with the melancholy areas of Eames' biography, this was far and away a better Arthur than that had been.

"The offer for information stands," Arthur said before attempting to get out of bed. "I'm fine," he insisted, right before pausing on the edge of the bed like he was about to turn up his dinner.

"Tsk, Arthur, I won't break to get you water, but you just might. Muscling through it won't help you, we both know. Lay down, it's only barely even been an hour." Eames stood, grabbing the bottle and heading over to the tank, dunking it again. "I managed to content myself to being high maintenance furniture for a whole two days, can't you manage a couple of hours?" He took the water back, handing it over. 

"It's just a hangover," Arthur said as he accepted the water, chugging it down.

"Sure it is. I'm going to just start assuming you mean the opposite of what you say, that you feel terrible and you'd love a massage, if you keep doing that." Just to prove his point Eames ran his fingers along Arthur's temple, from his ear backward. "I think you'd be quite incensed by that, wouldn't you?"

Arthur made a sharp noise that was somewhere between startled and very, very pleased before freezing and clearing his throat. "Fine," he said, snorting, as though he had a shred of hope in convincing Eames he didn't care if his scalp was massaged or not, and that he was only agreeing because Eames had verbally twisted his arm. "Eames, I feel like shit, my head hurts so bad I think drilling a hole would actually help. And, yes, I would like a massage."

"That's what I thought." Eames grinned, leaning forward, carding the fingers of both his hands through Arthur's hair, pressing and stroking in turn. He couldn't sit down unless Arthur agreed to put his head in his lap, or against his chest, something he doubted the man's dignity would allow. Otherwise, his shoulder would complain and he needed both hands to do this properly. "Now isn't this much better?" he teased, stroking behind Arthur's ears again with his thumbs, around and up along his temples, the rest of his fingers pressing gently into the back. "Things are always easier when you're honest. We won't even be needing to drill any holes. And I can apologize to your body at least a little bit for the shit you put it through on my behalf."

Arthur mumbled something about children and alcoholism and how it was worth it. Eames decided to take it as a compliment.

Eames focused on the patterns his fingers were making, moving on to Arthur's forehead, carefully pressing along his eyebrows. He had to chase away the feeling of the curve of Arthur's spine under his fingertips, still clear as day and completely irrelevant and inappropriate at that particular moment. Except Arthur's eyes were closed and his expression complete bliss and how was he supposed to stop thinking about it? Distraction, keeping it methodical and breathing.

"You are enjoying this far too much for all the resistance you put up earlier, darling." He bent forward, moving his hands to the nape of Arthur's neck, pressing his fingers into slightly knotted muscle, thumbs carefully rubbing under the hinge of Arthur's jaw. "If you like massages this much, you could have just come out and said it, there's no shame in it. I can only imagine the sheer amount of knots in your back alone."

"You didn't mention you were good at them," Arthur shot back, leaning away a bit now that Eames had pointed out that Arthur enjoyed something.

"It would follow, wouldn't it, if I'm supposedly a Companion?" He was still a little bit scandalized by the supposition. It was a compliment in a sense, but he wouldn't be caught dead doing tea ceremonies or serving as arm candy. Eames let his hands slide off but not before adjusting the rumpled collar of Arthur's shirt. "Feeling better?" He stole one more touch, brushing a piece of hair behind Arthur's ear before finally pocketing his hands or else he would never stop, stepping back to an acceptable distance. If he was, they could go check on Ariadne and - sigh - Isaac, since the light had filtered through the windows already, indicating that it was midmorning and long since time for breakfast and to leave if they hoped to get anything accomplished on Rook.

"Better a Companion than what you implied about me," Arthur offered dryly. "I am feeling better."

"At least I said I was sorry about it. And that I only said it..." Eames paused, frowning stubbornly. Ariadne had been right to voice the fact that he would just be using Arthur if their friendship was built on the fact that Arthur was only interested in him. Speaking of which, he'd admitted far more than he'd wanted to in that talk and he wasn't sure if Ariadne also suffered amnesia after drinking... And he'd only mentioned it getting back to Morena. While that was an unpleasant possibility, if she told Arthur... He wasn't looking forward to seeing her again. He didn't complete his sentence, changing topics. "I'll go get breakfast, then, and see what the situation is. You still need more rest, I can tell, and Ariadne might not be in any better shape." There was no way in hell he was going alone with Isaac - he'd be liable to give him a piece of his mind and the guy couldn't be faulted for being rude and sweet on Arthur, not logically.

"Don't mention food," Arthur said as he settled himself back down, staring wearily as the wastebasket on the other side of the tent.

"Oh, that bad, is it?" Eames preemptively kicked the wastebasket over, pausing to give Arthur one more look over. And he had been planning to leave in that state... The stress much have been the only thing holding him together and after that it was his fascination with Eames' story. He half wished he hadn't told it because while Arthur didn't seem to have changed his opinion of him to pity, there was still the chance it might happen down the road. Showing off a long healed wound wasn't much more pleasant than an open one, if less painful. "Well don't die, it's just a hangover," he quipped, grabbing a shirt from the pile and shrugging it on, flexing his shoulder through some pain as he ducked out of the tent, closing the flap behind him.

It needed exercise, he realized as he walked and he should have pitched the question to Yusuf while the man was around, but hopefully he'd find him in his home afterward since the tables were mostly empty. Fortunately Ariadne was around, since he wouldn't even have the faintest clue about where to even start looking for her. She didn't seem to be in much better shape than Arthur, but she was dressed in something different than last night and had dragged herself to the table where she was sitting in front of an untouched plate of crackers and dried fruit. "Paging Ariadne, come in," he said, sitting down, refraining from knocking on the table. "Are you having those, because there's no more and I'm hungry."

"If it makes you stop talking," Ariadne grumbled, slowly lifting her head and squinting as she started pulling hair away from her face. Then she propped her chin up on her palm, fingers curled against her cheek. She smiled at him, a touch hesitant, then starting fishing, "So, seeing that you aren't hiding out behind a tent, I guess things are... okay, with Arthur?"

Eames moved her plate over to his side of the table, instantly beginning to clean it. With all the wasted energy and just one plate of meat to power it last night, he was hungry. "I thought you didn't want me to talk," he teased and raised his eyebrows pointedly. If this kept going in the direction it was, it would be easier to just write daily reports on who said what and who got angry. "And, for the record, I wasn't hiding." There was no other word for it, unfortunately, so he just left it at that. 

Ariadne rolled her eyes at him.

"We're better, I guess, although Arthur did try to make a run for it, before I distracted him with sad childhood stories. With the hangover he has, I'm surprised he even made it out of bed, where he's holed up right now."

"Better is good," she said, pointing out the obvious. "But god, does he have more than one liver? Jesus, why would he drink that much? Oh my god, is he an alcoholic? Shit, did I try to pressure an alcoholic into drinking?"

"Not as far as I know? I think he keeps on overestimating his limits, however, and I did upset him. He keeps on getting completely shitfaced on my account, I might turn him into an alcoholic at this rate. That and I believe he's under the impression that since he drank a bucket once upon a time, he is immune to alcohol poisoning. First, you have to get him to loosen up, then you have to monitor his intake. It's a lose-lose." Eames sighed, popping more fruit into his mouth, chewing slowly now that the edge of his hunger was gone. 

"Huh," Ariadne hummed as she applied the new information, "He seems like he'd be the King of Moderation."

"And with that as a segue, are you feeling up to going out to Rook today, or is this the official holiday after the official holiday where no one moves and I should have drank more than three glasses last night so I wouldn't have to be the only fully functioning one and take full advantage of a day lazing in bed?"

"Don't lie to me now, you'd love to laze about in bed with Arthur all day. You aren't going to guilt me into heading out to Rook, the car ride alone would do me in. Besides, do you guys need to talk? I mean a real talk. And what happened last night? Did he pass out or did he manage to say something? Come on, you owe me one for getting everyone to back off."

If he was vague, Ariadne's curiosity would only be piqued, and he wasn't really willing to go into detail. "And we did have a talk. Last night he called me a shitty friend and said I had no right trying to end anything and that he hadn't wanted to leave until I pushed him. This morning I got him to reluctantly confirm it. On my side I just apologized as best I could. That's it, really." It was close enough and he still felt he'd like to keep the details close to heart. He doubted Arthur would like the whole story getting out, either.

"I knew it," she cawed, smiling a little in triumph, "totally knew he wants to be your friend!" She winced - that had been loud - and rubbed her temples. Her voice was significantly lower when she next spoke, "And can this please, please, last more than a few days?"

"It would be nice, but I can't make any promises past already walking on eggshells around him." Her enthusiasm was slightly irking and he frowned at himself for it - now he was growing possessive of the progress of their relationship, as well. This was getting out of hand. And he was done with Ariadne's food, so there wasn't even half a distraction. "He let me give him a scalp massage if that counts for anything." That was a detail she would surely enjoy and somewhat of an antidote to just sitting on every little thing.

"He needed that, I bet. I didn't even have that many drinks, and I wasn't downing cups of whiskey like they were shots. How's your head, by the way, are you really absolutely fine right now? And there are more crackers, if you're hungry, you just have to pull them out. No one will mind."

"I am really absolutely fine right now. I took breaks and three drinks isn't seven. I could have technically driven, if there was anything and anywhere to drive to. Not to mention it all basically evaporated along with my will to remain upright between the stress and half carrying Arthur. In short, I was and still am far too sober for anything that's going on right now." He shook his head, sighing. They didn't seem to be going anywhere which was both bad and good, since he would need to find something to occupy himself with while everyone else was nursing their aching heads but he was also not obliged to go find Isaac.

Ariadne gave a small shrug. "Morena asked about you guys, I didn't tell her anything though. Just a heads up," she said.

"Well she can keep on asking," Eames huffed. "I don't understand what she's getting out of this." He spun his plate around once before reconsidering and standing to get the crackers. It was better than sitting around slightly ornery because his stomach was bothering him. He returned with a handful more crackers, sitting back down since he was in no hurry. "Thank you for not saying anything. It's like she's entertained by screwing with us, is it something she does to all new comers or are we just special somehow?"

"A little of both," Ariadne hazarded, "She's always interested in new people, there's not a lot to do around here - you two are the most interesting thing that's happened in the two years I've been here..." She looked down, "But, she's been a lot more focused on you. I guess she'd used to figuring people out. I've never seen her make a mistake like that... I mean, Arthur almost--" she cut herself off.

"Arthur almost what?" Eames pressed, narrowing his eyes. The details of that day were fuzzy at best, he only remembered being royally pissed about the implication and his head heavy with fever as he woke. He hadn't been expecting Arthur to come back as soon as he did nor the odd question.

Ariadne dropped the hand on her chin and glanced down as she fiddled with the frayed end of her shirt. "Well, that morning, he asked if he could move in with me. I told him that was a crummy way to handle it, and that he should at least tell you he was leaving, and he said that he would and stormed in, and then he just... didn't." She looked back up, brushing her hair behind her ear and squinting against the light. "I think actually seeing you stopped him? But, before that, he really seemed like he was planning to leave. That's how I knew he would forgive you, and that he still would want to be friends. Though, I still can't believe he was that offended."

"He... did?" As far as Eames remembered, Arthur had looked determined, but his face had fallen and he'd asked about Bartel. All that he could recall was that he had been happy to see him despite all of it and, oh, shit, he must have looked like some sort of moonstruck fool, it was no wonder Arthur had hesitated, gods - And after he'd worked so hard to just get rid of that slimy little feeling. Of course, Arthur couldn't read faces as easily but he'd stayed... Eames grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck, wrestling the flow of his blood into submission but only after it had reached his ears. It was a wonder why Arthur hadn't told him to just cease and desist after catching a glimpse of that embarrassment that he was working on eradicating. No, he'd taken his hand instead and stayed when he should have followed his instincts and left. Said he was a coward... Now Eames just didn't even know what to think. "I see. Well, he must have changed his mind. It's not unheard of. Happens. Sometimes."

"He came to his senses, it's a good thing, isn't it? So far he's two-and-oh on the whole not being friends, three now. And maybe he'll have doubts, or whatever, but so far he's always come back. And this time, he wanted to talk to you. Progress, right?" Ariadne asked hesitantly.

Eames cleared his throat, trying to get a handle on himself. It was just the simple matter of bringing it up with Arthur, after all, just asking him what his reason for staying was. But not today. Nor probably tomorrow. But it should all be easily cleared up if he just asked. "Yeah, that's true. I guess we've settled it mostly." Ariadne had mentioned that he would be using Arthur if he demanded anything more which was why it was better to just keep mum about the whole thing. He would still bring it up if he found a chance but now he just wasn't sure he wanted to know. It could just have been pity for Eames and his fever that stayed him and that would be a likely, bitter truth.

Ariadne made an unhappy noise as she rose from her seat. "I have to watch the kids today," she announced, then she looked at Eames, considering. She put on her best puppy-dog expression, all sad wide eyes and gently furrowed brows, "Eames," she sing songed, "Eames, would you please help me watch them? I have coffee," she tried to bargain.

"Watch the kids?" The statement broke him out of his spiraling thought pattern and he tilted his head, confused. Someone was doing something today that kids needed watching? Well, most likely nursing their aching heads and kids would be an impediment to that process. "Sure," he agreed easily, having nothing better to do, and he could probably trade the coffee in to Arthur. Arthur needed it more anyway, and Eames was partial to children, coffee being neither here nor there. "I've seen them around, actually, whose are they?"

"Wei and Ri are the Zhao kids. I don't know if you've met Kyle and Lien, but those are the parents. Tracey is Claire's daughter, she's usually not trouble, but she's seven so... Wei is eight and Ri is five and they are both hyperactive, you have to watch Wei, he can be a bit of a bully. And, ugh, he's one of those kids that thinks he knows everything." Ariadne explained as she walked towards the kitchens and poured out the last cup of coffee. "I'm only watching Wei and Ri for the coffee, and I think Claire just needs a break. She misses her husband, it was only about a month and a half ago that he passed away. We've all been keeping an eye on her and Trace." She offered the cup to Eames. "You wanna finish it while I round them up?"

Eames noted the information faithfully, already attempting to put the names together with the smudgy faces he'd seen dodging between the grown ups knees. "Sure, go ahead, I'm going to go check on Arthur one last time." He took the cup, taking half a sip. Still neither here nor there and he was awake enough as it was. But he was going to accept payment where payment was due and she'd offered it first. Even if he didn't much want it, Arthur might. "Meet back here or is there a special pen you usually put them in?"

Ariadne laughed and shook her head. "Meet back here," she said, already starting to walk away. "If you've got any child appropriate books, grab them? And say hi to Arthur for me!"

Eames ducked into the tent to see Arthur already working on something on the pad. "Up already?" It wasn't even noon, when Eames had a hangover that size he didn't see the light of anything until far past two. "I've got a bit of salvaged coffee for you and Ariadne says hi. She and I are going to herd some kids until lunch time at the least, not exactly sure where." He felt awkward about the coffee now, what if Arthur didn't want it, he should have let Ariadne drink it instead. She'd obviously considered it ample payment but then again, she already had a cup. Still, he put it down on the table, squatting to look at the books they had. Child appropriate...? Out of everything he could only even consider _Black Horses for the King_ but even that was more young adult. He sidled it out of its place anyway, tucking it under his arm.

"Thanks," Arthur said, trying for indifferent even as he perked up and put away the pad to take up the mug. "Thought we should get something done, it's only a hangover. Isaac checks out though, we can have him help."

"Workaholic," Eames teased. Arthur seemed to be enjoying the coffee at least and maybe he should just bring it up. Did he really want to know, though? He flipped through the book, just for something to do, debating if he really wanted to broach the topic. He was leaving after all, and it would be a longer conversation. And he was not really looking forward to hearing either of the two most likely replies. He didn't like pity, and he didn't want to hear any gentle refusals. He knew enough to stop by himself. Maybe he shouldn't even mention it, they'd end up drifting apart on their own, certainly. There was nothing of interest within the pages and he put it down, figuring it was enough hesitation. Arthur seemed to want to say something, too, but stopped and settled on a short "Have fun" instead. They were both so useless. But he'd wait. Bring it up some other time. 

"I don't know, Ariadne makes it sound like a chore, bribing me with coffee. I'll, uh, see you later," he ducked out again, picking up a brisk pace back towards the kitchens.

It didn't take long for Ariadne to show up with the small flock of children, two boys and a girl, all of whom were regarding him warily, the girl more so, clutching her little handsewn teddybear to her chest. Tracey, he recalled.

"Good morning," Eames crouched down, putting himself on eye level with the rag tag little group. "My name's Eames," he had to pause a little bit for the alternating chorus of names, confirming or supplementing what he already knew. "Well, Ariadne is taking care of me today, too, she said you'll be nice to me if I'm nice to you, is that right?" This time he got a chorus of yes-es and by the time he stood, he was already absorbed into the group, the air full of happy chatter, mostly Ri explaining everything about where they were going and how long it would take to get there and who's brilliant idea it was to go there in the first place, in between which Wei tugged at his arm until he surrendered his book.

Soon enough both Ri and Tracey were swarming around his legs, while Wei had a better sense of personal space. "Alright, let's go," Ariadne said, stealing their attention and earning excited squeals before their attention was back on Eames. Ri keeping up a steady string of chatter and poorly formed words. Tracey hesitantly reached for Eames' fingers, drawing the bear close as they started to move out.

It was a little bit like walking on stilts, trying not to kick anyone that was in front of his moving leg. At least he was pleasantly surprised when Tracey tripped, almost falling, and his shoulder could hold the weight without too much pain as he righted her easily, the whole group stopping so he could give her back her teddy that she'd dropped. The sun was starting to heat up and he was only thankful when they reached the shade of the trail that Ri had been talking about, although it looked like the handful of kids was going to tire him out just as well as anything he could be doing on Rook. There was a modicum of shade in the open area as well although they seemed less interested in it that telling him everything about it, until he decided to organize a game of ball, simple, but highly amusing when someone lost it or missed.

Wei had started trying to dictate rules on the fly, explaining to everyone that shooting the ball through the tire swing should be worth points. Tracey didn't seem to want there to be any points because that was too hard and it wasn't fair, to which Wei responded by telling her she could score points, if she put her 无用 stuffed animal down, which had her recoiling. 

Eames frowned, stepping in to say that if Wei was making rules it was only reasonable that everyone else makes a rule and maybe they should vote on which rules should be part of the game and which shouldn't. Soon enough and after he made sure Wei had apologized, they were having a mock congress in the shade, a welcome break for all the running around anyway. Most of the rules, except that you had to at least try to catch the ball, were vetoed, but it became a game within itself to come up with the most creative and odd rules and then break them down in similarly creative ways. After that, it was high time to head back unless they wanted to miss lunch.

At least they had avoided a fight. Wei was being especially nice to Tracey on the way back who was just content with sticking close all to the backdrop of Ri's verbal meandering. Eames let Tracey keep cling to his hand in the meanwhile asking questions to further Ri's story telling, which already knew no bounds. He did figure that if the boy talked himself out, he would be much less of a handful for his parents. It was quiet when they got back and the children all but scattered in the direction of their respective parents, the volume in the area instantly reaching high levels, especially thanks to Ri.

Lunch was already being served, leftovers from the previous night, but it wasn't as busy as it tended to be. The line was short, and only a few people were scattered at different tables. Arthur caught his eye almost instantly, sitting across from Isaac, but he waved dutifully to the woman who must have been Claire, since Tracey was clinging to her instead. She smiled and Tracey waved as well. It seemed as though she had managed to have fun despite all the mishaps. They got in line for food and Eames schooled the small little tendril of jealousy to stay just that as he made his way over to Arthur. The problem seemed to stem not from the fact that Arthur was talking to someone else, but the fact that Isaac was still pushing himself too close even when Arthur put subtle distance between them. Still, it was none of his business and he smiled just as well as he sat down with his plate. "Feeling better now?"

"Head still hurts," Arthur said, immediately orienting himself to face Eames, a sign he couldn't not notice if he wanted to.

Ariadne seemed to have decided she was needed some place else and wandered off, which was a bit disappointing. He would have to actually control himself instead of relying on someone else to diffuse the situation and there was only so much mediation he could do in one day, especially between himself and someone else. It wouldn't hurt to try, however, and he didn't have much other choice. "That would be expected," he readily supplied, keeping his hands on his plate when they belonged, however tempted he was to run a couple of fingers through Arthur's hair again. They were much better occupied with eating, anyway.

"Haha, so that's why you've been so quiet, you should have said so!" Isaac chuckled, while Arthur fought back a sigh of annoyance.

"How was watching the children?" Arthur asked instead of engaging Isaac.

"Not as bad as Ariadne made it out to be, for sure," Eames answered the question. "The trick is to know how to get them to occupy themselves - there aren't many adults who can keep up with a child, so it's useless to try. They have their rough spots, like everyone else, but I think they like me, and seem to at least tolerate each other. It easier for them to learn for each other, too, which is fascinating to watch in itself. Have I mentioned I like children?" He chuckled to himself, now it was his turn to run off at the mouth, and he'd all but forgotten his annoyance. 

"Considering how much you act like one," Arthur intoned, dry.

"But enough about that, how was your day, then, anything new and exciting happen?" And he might have forgotten Isaac a little bit, too, but if Arthur hadn't anything interesting to offer about the past couple of hours, it was doubtful that Isaac did.

"Probably not much better than Laurence, eh, Arthur?" Isaac said, seemingly apropos nothing. Was it a conversation they were having before? Eames couldn't tell.

"It's too loud and too bright, I'll eat this back in the tent," Arthur announced, already standing and all but channeling annoyance, to which Isaac was still oblivious.

Whoever this mysterious Laurence was, Arthur seemed to not be amused at all - Eames wasn't sure if it was due to the headache or because Isaac was just annoying him. Of course, he hoped it was the latter. "I think I'll have to agree to taking this back, I've spent all day in the sun. Any more and I might be in pain later. We'll only be starting back up on work tomorrow, so you can go back to your doubtlessly busy schedule - I hear the Zhao's were considering fixing the water pipe above their house since it flooded last time." He had only gathered that much information from Ri's incessant talking - something about elephants was involved as well - not to mention it had happened a while ago. "And I could use a nap," the last bit was a lie but it served as a good do not disturb sign - if Arthur had ventured out into the sunlight, something must have forced him out of the tent. He was willing to bet it was Isaac.

"But there's only one bed," Isaac mumbled, mostly to himself and thankfully not getting up to follow.

"So there is!" Eames couldn't help but mention before turning around to follow Arthur, slightly giddy. Whatever assumptions Isaac wanted to make, he was perfectly happy to let him - it was half true anyway and he saw little reason why the man should be enlightened to the more complicated half. Simple was better, wasn't it? He ducked under the tent flap that Arthur held back, laughing as he saw Arthur's attempt at redecoration. 

He'd managed to block out the much of the sunlight by rigging up dirtied shirts and the windows had already been primed for drapes. It was only a matter of slipping the sleeves into velcroed loops and letting them hang and absorb the bright rays, adding a faintly colored hue to the space. Arthur'd found the least offensive patterns and the most solid fabric to minimize the effect, but there was still a hint of blues and browns from the striped shirts. The other was made of thicker cloth, the one splattered with motor oil.

"Love what you've done with the place," he teased, sitting down at the foot of the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him, balancing his plate on his lap. "I'm assuming you didn't leave this little romantic atmosphere of your own free will then?" He took a bite of the strips of meat, the protein far more satisfying than the crackers he'd had in the morning. Who ever was in charge just probably didn't felt like doing anything and thought no one would show up to call him or her on it.

Arthur ignored the teasing, other than a soft scoffing. "I assumed when I said I was leaving to get lunch, he would find something else to do, or run into someone else he knew while we were outside." He let his disgruntlement show as he stabbed a piece of beef with his fork. 

"He'd better be as persistent about welding," Eames groused, chewing on his own piece. Now, far too late, he could take Isaac with a sense of humor and really, what was he even thinking? Arthur seemed more put off by him than anything else. "You must have slept at least a little, right? It'd do you good and so would not looking at glowing screens." Now he was just being mothering, great. "I'm not actually planning on taking a nap, so I can forfeit you the bed if you'd like the chance."

"Do you believe there's nothing now?" Arthur challenged. "And my sleep cycle is fragile enough."

"It's never nothing," Eames commented, raising his eyebrows. "Not for him anyway. You can't possibly miss that he's sweet on you, if he's dodging you like this. But you don't have to prove anything to me, you know, I realize I was completely out of line." He couldn't come up with a good reason to explain himself - they were either unbelievable or too honest. And honesty would do him not good at this point. "All I meant was that if he was bothering you, you could have said so, since we do need all the help we can get and straight shutting him down isn't on the table. It's always my pleasure to knock people down a peg." He shrugged nonchalantly, picking the remainders off his plate. That sounded like a good medium even to his own ears.

"I thought I could handle it," Arthur said, "I've dealt with men a lot more forward than Isaac." He offered the rest of his plate to Eames, nausea apparently returning. "Is there anything you could do now?" Arthur inquired, tone little more than curious.

"Well he's not here now, is he?" Eames quipped, accepting Arthur's left overs. He should insist Arthur eat them, but it was probably the nausea returning and it was a shame to waste good food. "I can talk him away while I'm around, but you'd need to do something to show him you're not interested, without, of course, insulting his precious self - easiest being showing interest in someone else. Not the opposite way around of course, because then that's just competition and you'll never be rid of him. That someone has to be a person who neither is going to turn you away however gently and ruin it all, nor decide that they need to hang around you now, cause that would just be replacing one annoyance with another." He could admit to himself he wasn't brave enough to straight out suggest Arthur smooch him in front of an audience, no matter how blatant a statement that would be. "I'm sure we can bring Ariadne up to speed on it fairly easily and it's doubtless that she'll go along. I hang around you most of all, but it'd be your choice really. So long as he sees it all your problems would be solved, although I feel like I'm brewing up some sort of fanciful romance plot for a sit com."

Arthur smiled faintly. "Better than planning to walk into deathtrap," he commented and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs, and studied his hands as he considered the idea. 

"That's your prerogative. I was only there to make it less trap-y." Eames shrugged again, enjoying getting the motion back more than he probably should.

"What would this entail?" Arthur asked, looking back up at Eames.

Eames squinted. He would ask Arthur how old he was if he didn't feel awkward about it himself. But that stemmed from a completely different reason, surely, Arthur had gone through at least kindergarten with a healthy sense of giving and receiving affection. "A kiss, darling, it's not rocket science nor breaking into a thieves den," he stated, rolling his eyes mostly in self defense. It was surprising that this really needed to be explained. "On the cheek is enough even, if you're feeling very shy. Good for distracting people's attention, by the way, no one wants to see it if they're not somehow involved and everyone gets enormously engrossed if they are. But really have you not even been around your typical loving couple in recent memory? Just an affectionate gesture that can't be mistaken for a touchy friendship." And now he was explaining it far too much, but breaking it down helped him distance himself - he could treat it like a plan not much different than the one on Persephone.

Arthur sat back, clearly caught off guard. "Affection is for small children," he shot back, defensive, almost bristling, "and watching a ballet doesn't mean you know the steps." There was a pause as Arthur considered what Eames actually said once more. "So, I wait for Isaac to catch sight of me and I kiss either you or Ariadne?" He asked.

"Not if you put it that way." Arthur really needed help, it seemed. He could see it clear as day, Arthur making sure Isaac was looking and then promptly knocking foreheads with whoever happened to be nearer at the time. It was comical on one hand, sad on the other and completely not viable from the standpoint of a plan. "I have two choices here: either I spend an ample amount of time explaining something even children should know to you, or I suggest we practice, which cuts down on the explanation only slightly. Neither of these choices make me particularly comfortable because they are making me worry. You said you had a girlfriend at one point, the one whose nose you broke? There's no way you couldn't have held hands at the very least, or given her a kiss when you met up or one goodnight at the end of a date." He leaned forward, discarding his now empty plate to lean his elbow on his knee and put his chin in his palm. That he was bewildered was putting it mildly but he couldn't help but feel a surge of affection. Things that were completely normal to Eames were apparently alien to Arthur and it was both surprising and completely expected, given everything he already knew.

Arthur scowled. "We were twenty-three not five, Eames, so, no, we didn't hold hands, and just because I prefer to kiss in private doesn't mean I don't know how to do it. I just don't find it necessary. You don't need to explain how to kiss, you should know that much. Just give me a cue."

"Oh, I know you know how to do it, believe me. I'm more concerned about the delicate things, like degree of affection, the timing and body language - just because not everyone looks for it doesn't mean they don't react to it. Consider it an exercise in thievery, however far removed. And if you mess it up you'll have to deal with Isaac forever." Eames raised his eyebrows. It would also be a distinctly social fumble if Arthur tried too little or too hard but Eames was mostly trying to ignore the fact that now it would have to be him. It felt like he somehow manipulated Arthur into this situation even though that was not the case. After all, Isaac wasn't on his payroll and Arthur had asked for a way to get rid of him of his own volition. Eames had just suggested the easiest variant. Still, it felt like stealing, possibly because he was pretending to be ambivalent to something he wanted almost desperately. There was still the question of whether Arthur knew that or not... No, it was better to just focus on this. "But if Ariadne's taking the kids out again, she'd probably going to get me to tag along again and if Isaac gets wind of it he'll show up to take advantage of your company. So your cue might be sooner than you expect."

Arthur's lips twisted into something between a grimace and a frown. "Fine, we'll practice." He tried to hold his posture less stiffly, but there was still tension across his shoulders. "And how are we playing this, that we've been together since before the crash, or is this a recent development?"

There again was the dichotomy of wanting to back out of it as soon as Arthur mentioned it and the desire to throw himself into the plan out of selfish need. Eames sighed and concentrated on not faltering and considering the possibilities. "It's just one person, not a country. There doesn't need to be an elaborate backstory to it, just that it is and it's comfortable. If the relationship is recent, a kiss is liable to last longer, if it's been around it's more of a gentle peck. And we don't even want to be fooling a country, or even the whole town, because then the expectations mount surprisingly quickly. Frankly, if he finds out later, it'll be fine, the main idea is to get him off your back now and the fact that we went through the effort of chasing him off is a clear enough indicator for anyone that you're not interested. By then we might be out of here anyway and there will be no need to be sparing his ego. It's lying with training wheels, essentially, it's just the first step you don't want to mess up, the rest of it is not as important." Although he was foreseeing getting an earful from Ariadne if she happened to be near by and by social osmosis it would travel to Morena as well. Life was supremely difficult sometimes.

"What if I just mention a significant other?" Arthur ventured.

"So you're going to engage him in a friendly conversation during which you're going to share a piece of supposedly personal information giving the impression you want to be at the least friends and prompt even more interaction? I'm not sure how that would benefit you and it's a far harder project. That is, unless you want to call him out on hitting on you which would embarrass him." Eames figured he covered all of his bases. "It doesn't much matter to me, mind, I'm just throwing out what I think. Whatever you decide is what we'll go with." Now that was all of it. He had no stake in this, none at all, for all anyone knew he would be an innocent bystander. That was his story and he was sticking to it, even if he couldn't live it exactly. "So if you're worrying about that, don't, you'll have to be one hell of an actor for me to read anything into it." He wasn't lost enough to consider a stiff peck something it wasn't. And hopefully Arthur would just assume he was that good when he inadvertently gave himself away.

Arthur thought it over, bracing his hands on his thighs. "That isn't my concern. I don't think you've thought this through, where are we going to be that Isaac will be the only one to see it? How will we know he won't say anything, if we do manage to avoid everyone else. It's going to take several days to finish the welds, and we can't go from kissing in public to holding each other at a distance, I doubt he's that stupid. Lying like that would definitely ensure he won't help, or he'll assume we've separated, or it was a one time occurrence and we'll be almost exactly where we started."

"I doubt he'll be the only one to see it, that would be a stroke of luck if he did. Everyone else's impressions are secondary, he doesn't seem to be colluding with anyone else anyway and once again Ariadne can be brought up to speed." She was almost guaranteed to be hanging around. "Otherwise, we sleep in the same bed, I would imagine that's argument enough. That and there's work to be done, there doesn't need to be a wealth of public affection, especially considering you're still you." At least this was easier to argue than what sort of kiss and how much touching there should be because he couldn't find the inner stability to talk about that in a normal, business manner. "But really, the chance that he's going to go dig around is so very minimal it might as well be discarded. That and we're not out and out telling him anything, or saying come here, watch this, so there's no direct information to be questioned. His fundamental attribution error will be doing that for us."

Arthur gave a small shake of his head, clearly unhappy with all the variables. "You don't think people will talk? That we won't need to act differently--" He paused, pursing his lips, then turned his head, staring at the neatly stacked books. "So, we just need to get the kiss right, and let everyone draw their own conclusions." He looked back at Eames, "It's our best option?" There was some skepticism, but there was also willingness.

"Why would we need to act any different? It's already not a far leap of logic to assume we're together, as I've found out at least, and who would care enough to question it?" Eames sat up straight, the discussion seemed to be coming to a close. "I know no one around here has anything better to do than talk, but it's why time frame of the relationship doesn't matter, there's no one who's going to be pressing for concrete info and they'd have no reason that would be suspicious if you refuse. It's not exactly tax evasion. Like I said, lying with training wheels. It really is the best option as it is the simplest and the one with least verbal lying. I think that's usually the best, it's better to keep information out rather than make up false facts only to slip up vocally or by facial expression or contradict yourself later on. The acting, however, is a different story." Arthur was the one who had seriously suggested practice, Eames was washing his hands of the responsibility for that idea. If he wanted to practice, Eames would be lying if he said he wasn't amenable. It would give him a chance to make sure he didn't take it too far either. But he was certainly not going to press for it. As far as Arthur knew, he was the only one getting any sort of benefit from this and Eames was not going to blow that cover, not on purpose.

"Walk me through it," Arthur said.

This was going to be hard, he could already tell. But hell, Eames could indulge a little bit. He just had to keep it from becoming a list of how Eames would like to be kissed by Arthur which was both shameless and endless. Just focus on logic. "That would depend on the situation. If I'm leaving it would be easiest, just a simple kiss good bye, a quick I'll miss you, see you later, don't forget what I just said, we'll have time for more later, lots of different potential meanings. The only body language you'd have to use would be to grab my attention, a hand on my arm is good enough. Coming back would be my turn, which is not what we're looking for. Anything else would have to be a play by ear scenario - could be a reward for something I do, for instance, but that's more likely to be in a crowd at dinner, so not exactly ideal. Still, a hand on my cheek or shoulder for a short peck is good enough, we're not exactly trying to put on a show."

Arthur nodded. "So, if you leave with Ariadne, I put a hand on your shoulder to get you to turn around and give you a short peck on the cheek," he said, taking the variable out of the situation.

"Cheek works, not as well, but it's fine," Eames agreed, only slightly disappointed. "Is that even possible, though, that he'll be outside the tent, waiting? It seems rather creepy if you ask me."

"The tent is in clear view from more positions than it isn't, just make some kind of motion, or have Ariadne look ahead."

"Well, then, it's a plan." Eames reclined backwards onto his hand, the discussion having reached it's conclusion. He didn't have to do anything personally but guarantee Isaac's presence and then a cue. Unfortunately, he didn't have long to relax, Ri running into the tent in a flurry of noise and motion, almost throwing himself at Eames' knee to grab at his free hand. Out of all of the jibber jabber, Eames understood that Ariadne had sent him over to get him - that they were meeting in the dining area where they had before, something he hadn't exactly considered. He stood, taking Ri's hand to pacify him at least somewhat although the little boy pulled on it, wanting to go. Eames shrugged, looking at Arthur. "Might be a safer bet if you come with us - Isaac might want to strike up a conversation on the short walk." It would be a guarantee he saw, but from unfortunately closer up.

"Alright," Arthur agreed, rising to a stand himself and then the little boy seemed to take notice of him, ducking between Eames legs and staring curiously. Arthur smiled, a little strained and Ri was back to trying to pull Eames outside.

"Who's he? Do you live together? Why? Are you married? Is he coming too?" Ri asked Eames rather than Arthur, who had moved to collect the plates.

"This is Arthur," Eames explained by way of an answer to all the questions at once. "We landed here together and he's coming to see us all off, is all." He couldn't have supplied more if he tried, already being pulled along into the sunlight, turning his head slightly to make sure Arthur was coming along. It was a short walk to the kitchens and Ariadne waved at both of them as they drew near, yet Isaac was already dodging Arthur's heels, talking almost as much as Ri, which was somehow funny and sad at the same time. Eames found himself feeling sorry for the guy. Even if he was laying it on thick, at least he was trying. "Going to the same place?" he asked conversationally and Ariadne nodded, waiting until everything was settled down enough to walk.

Arthur dropped the plates in the sink along with the rest, concentrating on ignoring Isaac as thoroughly as possible. "I'm still tired," he said, coming to stand near by.

Eames used the fact that both Arthur and Isaac were behind him, to make a cut vocal cords motion at Ariadne, whose expression changed from happy to confused but she nodded, a bit distracted by Tracey trying to tell her something over the hubbub. It was a good moment, better than any he could think of, he just hoped Arthur wouldn't be too surprised by it. He let go of Ri's hand to exchange it for Arthur's wrist, carefully stroking his pinky across his palm. "I'm sorry, darling, you should go get some rest. Keep the bed warm," he smiled, bumping their shoulders slightly. This was obviously not what they had discussed but it was only expected that this would require some improvisation. "We should be back by dinner."

Arthur followed the lead with little enough hesitation that could be excuse for him being tired, carefully pressing his lips to the corner of Eames' and... lingering, lips soft, mouthing slightly. Then slowly pulling away, letting go of Eames' hand gently, all to the sound of Eames' heart thundering in his ears. The kiss was... Either Arthur was showing some intense promise or there were going to be in for an awkward evening because, fuck... He'd slipped and turned his head slightly, reaching, but Arthur was gone, saying something about grabbing a plate but gods, he didn't want anything but to finish that kiss, to take Arthur in his arms. He'd known it was a bad idea but Arthur hadn't even given him the chance to screw up, he was so done, so done, there was very little he could do to stuff the feeling down again. It wasn't even lust anymore, not when the barest touch had managed to sweep his breath away like that.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry, he never said," Isaac began spouting as soon as Arthur was out of earshot, "I wouldn't ever... I didn't know." Ariadne was trying her best not to gape but Isaac wasn't paying attention to her.

"What? Oh, no, don't worry about it, mate." Eames waved his hand dismissively, the motion at odds with his frantic interior. "I'll look forward to seeing you around." Because he was almost certain the man was going to make himself as scarce as possible until he was needed to honor the agreement about the ship, already escaping as soon as Eames waved him off. Eames cleared his throat and licked his lips, focusing on the fact that it had worked. Isaac was clear on what had just transpired and it was just what Arthur wanted. It had gone fine. A perfectly timed exercise in acting.

"I knew it, I said you were married, I said it first!" That happened to be the last straw and for the second time in too short a while Eames could feel his face heating up. Goddammit, Ri and his big mouth. He exhaled and shoved his hands in his pockets, walking towards Ariadne and the children. He was going to have a hell of a time pretending nothing happened.

Ariadne just grinned at him without sympathy when Wei jumped in: "Of course they're married, any idiot would know that!" unable to abide his younger brother knowing something before he did to which Ri continued to insist he was the first.

"Did you lose your ring?" Tracey asked, ignoring the boys and already sounding sad. And Ariadne couldn't take a break from laughing to help Eames clear any of it up.

"We're not married yet," Eames tried for a compromise in half truths, easier said than done. He'd traded Arthur's peace and quiet for trying to explain something he had very little idea about himself to kids, which was going to be hell. "We were, uh, we were going to go see my dad before we crashed," he had to think of something to distract them with, thankfully it was two boys to one girl so it was marginally less likely for them to start planning some sort of wedding ceremony because they thought he wanted one. That would be terrible. "So after we rebuild our ship and send you guys home we're going to do just that, then take a little tour around the 'Verse and then get married, that's the plan." God, that sounded like the worst, best? no worst, even if it was Arthur, visit his father, who came up with that brilliant plan? idea ever but it should dissuade the kids from doing anything foolish. "But more importantly, who remembers what we decided about rules for the ball game?" That had Ri talking again and he exhaled in relief. Next time, he would put emotional terrorism by small children into his calculations.

By the time they reached the clearing, the children had long forgotten about their preoccupation with Eames' love life and instead invested in the game of catch. Maybe if he tired himself out he would just forget everything that ever happened in his whole life that led up to this. It was worth a shot, anyway, and he wasn't about to subject himself to even further questioning by Ariadne, who would definitely know the right questions to ask to make him even more uncomfortable. Which was something he really didn't need right at that moment. Somehow the game of ball managed to last until they had to leave, although Tracey had forfeited early, too tired to keep up with the endless enthusiasm of the boys, somewhere between Eames teaching them how to juggle and do foot tricks. She'd curled up with Ariadne, requesting the book that Eames had stashed in the pack be read to her at least a little so she didn't fall asleep. He suspected he would have to carry her back and by the end the boys were tired, too, the clearing not as loud as it usually was. His shoulder hurt, of course, but he only brought that one upon himself. How he would react upon seeing Arthur again was a mystery, but he'd managed to forget that whole rotten affair for an hour or two, which was as good as it was apparently going to get.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, one more chapter as regularly scheduled (on the 26th), then break. I can't just leave on such a good ending now can I? :P

"Isaac bother you at all today?"

Arthur glanced up from his food and watched Eames as he took his seat. "No, and I haven't seen him since I've been out here," he answered. He'd had ample time to distract himself, more research into what the Alliance had on him, but seeing Eames again brought the awkwardness back.

"Ah, good, just as planned then. Good job, by the way." Eames paused after the statement, focusing on a piece of table between them before looking back up only to shift his attention to his food.

Arthur inclined his head slightly, to indicated he'd heard. It didn't feel quite right to say, 'Thanks, you too,' but he wasn't bothered by the deviation. They hadn't gone in with a script and it had worked, Arthur's only discomfort internal. Bothered by his own reactions; Eames had only been playing a part for Arthur's benefit. He couldn't delude himself. He had his lines, he wasn't going to let them be crossed.

"Also, fair warning, Ariadne's dead set on an interrogation since she hadn't gotten the chance to thoroughly question me in front of a bunch of kids."

That knowledge didn't help at all. "We knew it would happen," Arthur said, forcing himself to treat this pragmatically, "and it's simple enough to explain." Though maybe only to anyone but Ariadne. He stabbed at the beef strips, a part of him already tired of beef and his stomach still not entirely settled. He knew he needed to eat, but the meat sat heavy. He really needed to stop drinking, his body couldn't handle it. Eating seemed the better option, better than talking, not that there was even anything to discuss. He'd kissed Eames, as planned, and Isaac left him alone, as planned. He could still feel the hint of stubble on his lips and he licked them unconsciously, the tip of his tongue darting over his bottom lip.

"You can do the answering, then, I've literally had to put up with her eyes boring into the back of my skull for the last several hours."

"Fine," Arthur said, though answering Ariadne's questions seemed significantly more difficult than dealing with her staring. On the other hand, he hadn't spent the day with energetic children, and just because Eames liked them, didn't mean they couldn't run him ragged. The man did look tired, seemed like an early night for him, which was good. He was willing to let the silence remain, a few more moments of peace.

"So," was the first thing Ariadne said as she put her plate down, making a show of taking her seat. "I hear you're pretend together, Arthur, Eames, congratulations. Why?"

Arthur considered his answer, continuing to eat as a stall, but eventually physical comfort won out and he pushed the plate away for either Eames or Ariadne to pick at. It was more than he'd eaten at lunch, and he'd probably be hungry again by tomorrow.

"To get rid of Isaac," he answered. Blunt and without details, Ariadne could have them if she asked the right questions but Arthur wasn't in the mood to divulge of his own volition. It also bought him time to consider those details, should the blunt answer not prove sufficient.

"Really? And you couldn't have just politely told him to go away because?" Ariadne frowned, tapping her fork lightly against her plate. "I'm warning you, I know a whole lot about the both of you that you don't want me to say in front of the other. So let's talk like civilized people, shall we?"

Arthur liked Ariadne, he truly did, she was smart, capable, but her boundless curiosity and the threat of emotional blackmail were not currently endearing her to him. The fact she had something on Eames was a little jarring, Arthur'd assumed he was better at guarding his secrets and Eames had been laid up in bed or with Arthur so unless it was something that happened today it couldn't have been something Eames had done. "Ariadne, have you ever had someone work voluntarily with you after you've rejected them?" he answered with a question. "If you have, it's either because they haven't accepted your dismissal, or they're looking to get even. But if I'm only ignoring him because I'm already in a relationship, then no one is insulted, and hopefully he knows to stop." Isaac didn't seem the type to try something while Eames was there, and considering he hadn't stopped by the tent, he probably realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with Arthur. "It was just a kiss," he added.

"Just a kiss?" Ariadne put her elbows on the table, raising her eyebrows, before frowning and rubbing her forehead. "So is it going to progress like this? Just sleeping together, just a kiss, just a hole you're digging for yourself, there is a whole lot of things about you two that makes it hard for me to believe the 'just'. Yusuf is probably done with that sleeping aid you were talking to him about, Eames. Should we bring the second mattress back with us tomorrow so you don't need to just cuddle? It'll be much roomier." Eames looked up at her as if he was going to say something, but it was really Arthur's reaction she was looking for.

Arthur went treacherously stiff but forced himself to relax. Not sharing the bed was good, put some distance between them, but Arthur had spent all day in an empty bed and he hadn't enjoyed the extra room. He took a sip of water, chasing away the dryness. "Wouldn't it be suspicious?" he asked, not because he wanted to share the bed - it was simply a practical choice for the preservation of their act. Isaac would notice if they brought a mattress back, and space in their tent was at something of a premium anyway. "A few more nights won't be a problem." And, shit, he was actually looking for reasons to continue sharing the bed. But they were good reasons and he kept his face neutral.

"Would it? I would imagine you'd shove them together to have more room for all the sex you're just having. But whatever you want."

How had it gotten so bad that even rudely implied sex with Eames had him picturing it? He'd seen Eames in enough shades of undress to imagine him in almost nothing but that smug, self-satisfied grin as he pulled Arthur into bed with him. He shut down the image as quickly as he could, swallowing thickly. He heard Eames clear his throat and looked over, processing that Eames was saying he would be turning in early while Ariadne huffed in the background. He didn't know if that meant he'd be heading to Yusuf's for that sleep aid, or if he'd head straight for their- the bed. "I'll be there in a minute," Arthur said regardless and gestured to his rucksack filled with a fresh change of clothes and soap. He started to get up, too.

"Are we heading to the showers?" Eames asked, backtracking slightly to wait until Arthur slid the bag out from under the bench.

"Yeah," Arthur answered, lifting it. He'd brought enough clothes for Eames, assuming the man would want a shower and glad to be proven right. Cologne only covered so much, but Arthur could understand being tired. No one had said anything about the showers being off limits in the morning. "I've got everything," he said. He didn't bother to say goodnight to Ariadne, he was irritated, and he didn't care if she knew. Ariadne had already been excused for a lot, the near constant pressuring of his relationship with Eames, the endless questions and he hadn't forgotten her threats. Arthur knew he wouldn't be confiding in her, but he didn't confide much. No great loss. He made his way to the shower, thankful the line wasn't long and that the residents weren't interested in talking to him much. Eames might have been a different story so he let himself lose track of him as he took his turn to shower.

Arthur washed himself quickly, sparing himself only a moment of disappointment at changing into Eames' larger pants and shirt. He pushed his hair away from his face and focused on what Ariadne had said, and whether or not it was worth speaking to her about, as well as the new information that pushing beds together wasn't uncommon. He didn't think Isaac would be stepping inside their tent in the near future, and wanting more space was a weak reason when the majority of their time was spent on Rook. And he didn't want to share the bed, he'd allowed it because it was necessary for Eames. It provided no benefit for him, and if Yusuf's sleep aid worked, it wouldn't provide a benefit for Eames either. So why did it feel like something was being taken? Did he want to be needed? He scoffed at himself, no. He ignored the feeling. They'd grab the mattress tomorrow and Arthur would probably sleep easier for it.

He couldn't find Eames (although the change of clothes was gone) but on his way back he caught sight of Ariadne putting up her plate and Arthur's as she had still been eating it when they left. He'd tell her off, but he needed to know what he was going to say. He couldn't be cruel, they still needed her help, but she needed to stop. Arthur wouldn't tolerate much more.

"Oh, good, Arthur, we need to talk," she started as soon as he was within talking distance.

Arthur gave a last survey of the area, looking for Eames again, not finding him and ignoring the thought that Eames had done it deliberately. "About what?" he asked, on the brusque side of neutral. He hadn't thought of what to say yet. A part of him no longer regarded her as a friend, and he was every bit as willing to shut her out.

Ariadne huffed again and put her hands on her waist. "I told Eames about how you tried to leave." She paused. "And you know what happened? He got embarrassed and brushed it off. Why? What was it that you did that made him blush? And you should have seen his face after the whole kissing stunt you two pulled, especially after one of the kids insisted you two were obviously married."

Arthur flinched, and the muscles in his jaws flexed. Of course, she'd told him but Eames hadn't brought it up and at least it meant he didn't have to. He frowned at the question, startled into honesty at the surrealism, "I don't know." Eames had blushed, and Arthur couldn't imagine why, if anyone stood to be embarrassed it was Arthur. He'd been the one holding his hand and explaining how scared he was of what their relationship could do to him. Eames had admitted his own fears, but he hadn't seemed embarrassed about it. He'd treated it as something natural. Arthur didn't want to speculate, he was tired of second-guessing, he'd learned to wait for all the information when it regarded Eames. He recovered his composure and shifted into offense. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing? Cut the shit and say what you're going to say."

"Oh, God, Arthur, he likes you." Ariadne made a vague circular motion with the tips of all her fingers, trying to get her meaning across. "Likes you-likes you, and this game of pretend isn't helping him live it down as he's trying his hardest to do. Now I'm not sure what your opinion on him is, but you have to give him a yes or a no because I'm afraid he'll never actually ask because he thinks it'll push you away, even though you can only up and leave when he's not there to stop you. Then I asked you about the bed and you didn't agree outright, just kept to logic which means you're either cold or cruel. I'm worried about him." She crossed her arms, waiting for a reaction. "You're both being dumb," she added on sullenly as an afterthought. "And I'm the one who has to watch him kill himself over it. I don't like it."

The muscles in his jaw and neck continued to work as he held his mouth tightly shut. "He's the one that suggested it," Arthur said between his teeth, "I offered other solutions, he said this one would work." His fingers curled into fists and his nostrils flared as he breathed out. "So you tell me, how hard do you think he's trying?" he spat, and it wasn't Ariadne's fault, but she was there and she was going accuse him of being cruel when Eames was acting like he was doing Arthur a favor while getting what he wanted. Fuck. That. Nevermind that Arthur had enjoyed it, the pleasantness to the memory evaporated. He let the exaggeration slide, but the anger rose up at the poor choice of words anyway. Eames wasn't killing himself, it was a young girl's propensity for dramatics, she didn't know and there wasn't a point in raking her over the coals when there were bigger issues.

"Yeah really? He just went," she put on a parody of an accent, dropping her voice a decibel: "'Arthur, you should totally kiss me in front of a bunch of kids that I'll have trouble explaining it all to later'? I have a feeling you'd never agree to that. Or was it a mutual decision on what would work the best? Because, wow, did Isaac look guilty about hitting on you and you seem to have spent the day perfectly unmolested. And how hard do I think he's trying? He's ruined a perfectly good evening over you, and the only reason you didn't wind up spending the night with Isaac was because he felt he should apologize for his behavior. Otherwise, he was telling me how you would have more of a choice that way, because he couldn't stand to hurt you again. Fine, go and slap him in the face because I told you something he didn't want getting out, but last time you were leaving you said the same thing and then promptly chickened out. Are you actually going to go through with it this time or are you going to keep yanking his chain?"

"Is there some fundamental lapse in your cognitive process that does not register that Eames is a con artist? Slipping into people's confidence and getting them to do what he wants, seemingly of their own volition is what he fucking does, Ariadne. Do you get that? Or has he convinced you he's a saint?" Arthur fought to keep his voice at an acceptable volume, but he was crowding her against the sink. He stepped back. He needed to process this, not just react, and already pieces were slotting into place. Eames hadn't insisted on anything, either because he thought Arthur wouldn't agree or because he genuinely did want it to be Arthur's choice wasn't something Arthur could determine. "Yanking his chain?" He grappled with the phrasing, thrown by the accusation before deciding to dismiss it, "No, and _fuck you_. You don't get use the fact he didn't want me to know as an excuse for his actions, and then accuse me of stringing him along _when you fucking told him_." And he knew he wasn't being articulate, but Arthur wasn't going to be damned for the same thing Eames was being lauded for. He hadn't wanted Eames to know he planned to leave, Eames didn't need know. She couldn't accuse him of manipulating Eames and leading him back and forth when Arthur hadn't wanted him to know. "The fact that he didn't tell me he'd be getting his rocks off on this is _part of the problem_ , if I had known," known what? That Eames still wanted to screw his brains out? "I wouldn't have gone along. At least _Isaac_ has been fucking honest."

"Yeah, a con artist, that's your go to defense, isn't it, that he's some scoundrel who'll fool anyone because he doesn't even have a heart. And what about his actions? He hadn't done anything, Arthur! And you can be mad at me all you'd like, I'm not going to come begging for forgiveness because I'm not Eames and I think you're being an unreasonable 混蛋. So what if I told him, by that logic, because that doesn't excuse you either! Without me, there'd be no information at all exchanged between you because you're both fucking cowards!" Ariadne all but shouted at him. And frankly, why did she care? They were just some soap opera to her, he'd bet and that only fueled his anger.

"It isn't going to be a yes," Arthur bit out. Maybe, it could have been, but not like this. Not now. Not after this. And there's a heavy feeling in his chest, crushing weight settling in over his heart. He'd push Eames away, he'd push Ariadne away, he'll push everyone away. And then what? He'd had work before, and he had the ship repairs now, but then what? What the fuck was he going to do? There was _nothing_ to turn to.

"I don't care what your answer is, as long as it's honest! He already thinks you would say no, anyway, so you might as well not bring it up at all!"

Arthur had already shut down, not listening or addressing anything shouted at his back. He was done. He stepped into the tent, still tense but storing it behind a wall of cold detachment. The answer was no, it didn't matter than Ariadne couldn't figure it out, it didn't matter that the second she got an answer she didn't want she changed her demands, she was just another piece of shit in a long line of pieces of shit that wanted him to act and be a certain way. He'd done that, and all that happened was the demands kept spiraling higher and higher until he couldn't meet them and then he was left alone. And sometimes he'd caught on quick, chased those people out of his life before they could leave him raw and jagged on the inside.

But Eames wasn't in the tent for Arthur to chase out, so he dropped the bag in it's designated place and sat in the chair, scooping up the pad and resuming his research. Eames would turn up in a few minutes, and maybe Arthur would know what to say. But as the minutes ticked by, Arthur found himself anxious, watching the flap of the tent more than the scrolling text and videos that had been collected on him. He told himself another few moments, and he'd take the lantern and look for him. It was growing dark.

The moments ticked by with no change. Arthur took the lantern and warred with himself, if Eames wasn't back, maybe there was a reason. But Eames didn't know Ariadne had said anything, so Arthur wasn't certain what had him avoidant. He ducked out of the tent, lantern in hand. It wasn't dark enough that an artificial light source was necessary, but he wasn't certain how easily he could find Eames. He checked the area, sweeping it thoroughly and finding nothing. He hadn't expected Eames to be near the tent, but he couldn't write it off. The kitchens were empty aside from a lone figure cleaning dishes, and Arthur realized he had no idea how to find Eames. He could have been anywhere, and while the town may not have been excessively large, Arthur knew doing a grid search would take a considerable amount of time.

He spotted the man Eames had been speaking to earlier in a group playing cards. Theo, was it? He headed for the table and politely cleared his throat before moving into business, "Has anyone seen Eames?" He assumed they'd know the name, or at least connect an unfamiliar name with the new face that wasn't his.

"Arthur?" one of the men asked as if to confirm his identity. Theo's husband. Arthur remembered that much. "He went down toward the playground, I figured he might have forgotten something. He was helping Ariadne with the kids before."

"He didn't take a lantern," Theo volunteered. "We might have missed him coming back."

Arthur asked them to point him in the right direction and the path was as easy to navigate as they'd said. It was darker under the tree cover, and while Arthur could still see ahead, he was glad he'd brought the lantern. He made his way carefully and eventually found the open expanse. It took him another moment to find Eames, seated against the trunk of a tree. He moved in closer, footsteps still soft and careful in the half-light of the setting sun.

Arthur dimmed the lantern and kept the light away from Eames' face as much as he could. Eames seemed fine, asleep, and Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to wake him just to have an argument. He wasn't sure he should leave him to sleep alone in the middle of the woods, either, not that there seemed to be wildlife. He set the lantern down and debated between heading back while there was enough light or rousing Eames and discussing the issue of what Ariadne had said.

With the anger faded, and rational thought applied, he realized just how little Eames had pushed. Arthur hadn't protested either. Eames had already expressed his attraction and he'd never said it had gone. He'd only heard Ariadne's interpretation of whatever Eames had said, as well, which had probably only been about the physical. He carefully lowered himself, here was as good a place as any to think and if Eames woke, they'd talk, and if he didn't, well, Arthur would probably fall asleep out here, too. It was a little colder than he liked, but not unbearably so, and he'd always been sensitive to temperature. He pressed his back to the tree, staring up through the foliage to the very first stars becoming visible.

Eames woke with a gasp eventually, knocking his head back against the tree with a thump. A nightmare, probably. It took him a couple of seconds but eventually he did process Arthur's presence. "A... Arthur?"

"Your powers of deduction are impressive," Arthur said sarcastically, tilting his head down and to the side to face Eames, a calculated foot between their noses. He shifted, planting his feet on the ground and resting his forearms on his knees. He held his wrist loosely, almost creating a circle as he straightened his neck to stare into the blackness. The lack of sound was almost disturbing, but there was a soft rustle of wind that staved off complete silence. Arthur watched the lantern out of the corner of his eye, and he could make out some of Eames' leg by the glow of it.

"I'm not sure Ariadne understands how blackmail works," he said, starting off a little vague, but Eames was smart. He'd put together that she had either told Arthur his supposed secret, or that she'd admitted that she had already told Arthur's. Both issues that they probably need to discuss. Then again, Eames had clocked himself rather hard against the tree.

"She doesn't, no," Eames agreed, rubbing his face in his hands. "Probably because all she wants is for us to play nice. I told her to drop it, I never thought she'd be so persistent. At least Morena knows when to stop. Is it too late to say forget it and I lied?"

"Depends on what the truth is," Arthur said, blunt, but without giving anything away. He wasn't sure what he wanted to hear, that Eames was attracted to him beyond the physical, or that it was just sex. Even if Eames confirmed it was more than physical appreciation, they'd still only known each other less than two weeks. A trying two weeks, in which he'd watch Arthur's entire life shatter, crumble around him as he struggled to figure out what to do with the pieces of himself he had left. Two weeks of which they spent almost every waking moment together. He looked up again.

"Cards on the table, Eames," he said after a moment, admitting he did want the truth, he wanted it from Eames, and if he was going to ask for truth he knew he needed to offer the same. This, whatever, between them wasn't going to work if Arthur did the same shit he always did when things got hard. Eames had forgiven a lot, and never dredged it up again. He'd forgiven things long before Arthur even apologized. Eames wasn't even asking for more from him, Ariadne had shoved the ultimatum in his face. Eames had already accepted a no, according to Ariadne. Accepted a 'no' and stuck around to help. Shit. Was that why he was avoiding Arthur? No, Eames had to know it was different. They had a - they were complicated. He wasn't an Isaac.

"Cards on the table," Eames confirmed, settling back against the tree, looking up. "Yesterday, I told Ariadne there was no way I was in love with you. Attracted, surely, that never went anywhere fast, but anything more was out of the realm of possibility. Now, I'm not so sure. I might have been lying to myself even then. Even considering the start, the timing, the questionable exercises of trust, it's not going away. So believe me when I say that last night I was extremely jealous, out of a feeling I don't even understand and it's why I thought it would be better if I just stayed away because there's no way..." He stopped, propping his chin up on his hand again, looking away to his left. "If you never want to hear of it again, I understand and I will never ever mention it or give a sign of it if you don't want me to."

It was far too soon to be throwing the word love around, and Arthur shifted his shoulders in discomfort. At least Eames wasn't saying it directly, and Arthur supposed there wasn't a good word for that stage between attracted and in love. He settled.

"Cards on the table," he began, "I don't know. I'm not -" he faltered, because he was trying for honesty and saying he wasn't attracted to Eames, more than physically, was a bald-faced lie at this point, "I'm not ready. I don't know what I want, so, let's just, keep things the same." The wind picked up and Arthur drew his knees in a little closer. "Figures that when I'm convinced I want you gone, you won't leave, and when I actually want to talk to you, you wander off into the middle of the fucking woods. Asshole." Arthur complained, lacking bite. If this was how Eames felt every time Arthur tried to shut him out, Arthur was surprised he stuck around as long as he did. Being avoided hurt like a bitch, but Arthur was letting it hurt. He didn't try to wall Eames out, didn't pretend it didn't affect him. He grew somber again, "The truth is, you make me not want to fuck this up, and it is way too easy for me to fuck this up. Whatever it is."

"Well, sorry for feeling like a selfish bastard who doesn't deserve anything nice," Eames complained. "And I didn't think you'd want to talk. But I don't see why anything would need to change. I like it the way it is, when we aren't at each other's throats that is. And I understand the feeling of not wanting to fuck it up. It'll be easier now that we know where we're coming from, won't it? And we've managed to have a full, adult conversation, aren't we improving already? Leaps and bounds, I'd say."

Eames wasn't selfish, at least, not more than any other person in the 'Verse. And he deserved nice things, considering the hell he'd been through. But Arthur didn't share the thought, Eames seemed to be joking, referring back to Arthur's complaint. "Don't assume I want you to leave," he shot back instead. He knew he'd given Eames plenty of reasons to believe he didn't want to see him, now he was trying to make up for it. Arthur might have trouble saying it, and Eames usually saw right through him when he tried to deny it, but that didn't mean Eames didn't need to hear that he was wanted. As a friend, as a - a very complicated friend. Arthur turned his head, just enough that he could see Eames facing him out of the corner of his eye: smiling a little, cheeks resting on his palm. Then he went back to looking straight ahead. "Progress," Arthur agreed, "but it would be nice to not have a spotlight and a siren go off on every misstep." He paused. Well, they were being honest, and it was at least secluded out here.

"Spotlight, siren, search bots, motion sensors and a couple dozen police teams rappelling down from the walls, you mean. But I agree. Although it would help that you admitted that at times when you weren't drunk or I was barely functioning."

While they were being honest... "Ariadne told me that she mentioned me trying to move out, you took it well." And then he wasn't sure if he ought to apologize for it, or thank Eames for not becoming upset, and last part of the statement straddled the border of inquiry and observation. He left out the part about blushing, he was still trying tread carefully despite his curiosity.

"Why didn't you leave, by the way? Besides perhaps realizing that it was a silly thing to take to mind. I'm not playing you, I haven't since we met up again, you know."

Arthur gave a wry smile, not quite happy, but not quite bitter either, as he stared down. He considered his options, though he knew he'd be honest, he was stalling. He finally dared to look at Eames, although it was a bit difficult now that Arthur's cheek was almost pressed against his knee, his more rigid posture lost to a more huddled position in the face of the sinking temperature. The cold was probably amplified in comparison to the sweltering heat of the day, and Arthur's hair was still damp.

"Because you smiled at me," Arthur admitted, trying not to sound embarrassed, but Eames had said he was attracted to Arthur and that couldn't have been any easier. "Not because you wanted something from me, not because you'd said something, or I'd said something. You just... smiled. Like seeing me had made your whole fucking day," and Arthur laughed because if he didn't... he wasn't sure what he'd do. "Same smile as when I arrived after the crash. I've never had that." And Arthur didn't feel like he deserved it, because he hadn't back then, and he might not deserve it now, but he wanted it anyway. He felt color rising to his face and was glad for the dim lighting. "And I didn't think you could fake that."

"So you did see-," Eames grimaced and looked down as well, placing his hand on the back of his neck. "I can only imagine... You did make my day. You'd left without a word and I thought that maybe by evening when you'd cooled down a little and I slept at least a little bit of the fever off I could go talk to you and find out what was wrong and why you'd taken Morena's blather to heart but then you were back and I hadn't been... expecting it."

And Arthur knew what had Eames embarrassed, he filed it away absently. He'd started cataloging the things he learned about Eames automatically days ago, compiling it and applying it when necessary. And sometimes when not necessary. The toothpicks, for one. He let the thought settle, that Eames would have had every reason to be angry with him, Morena had already explained the situation, and instead had been... happy. And Arthur wondered if maybe he should back off, because he could soak in that affection and never give enough in return. But then he was thinking about Mal, and it was hard to think of anything else.

He swallowed, preparing to address the rest of what Eames said, "And I know, I know you aren't playing, or I'm as certain as I can be, but... but I was pretty certain about Mal... and she shot me, didn't even hesitate." Arthur let his eyes close and he tightened his jaw, fighting back the swell of emotion, but he needed to talk about this. Needed to move on, and he couldn't do that until he admitted it was problem. "I thought I knew her, but maybe, maybe she was... that thing, waiting for her chance." And it was difficult to explain, it wasn't as if he expected Eames, or anyone else, to do what she did, but that she had turned on him, on everyone, so swiftly, so radically...

"I'm sorry," Eames said, looking up a little bit, towards the trees, scratching at the back of his head. "The only thing I can do is give you my sympathies. And a promise that I'll try my best not to stare into space for too long and go crazy... Sorry, that was rude. Thank you for telling me, however, and never doubt that I don't want to share your more painful memories as well as the good ones. As much as you wish to tell me."

They sat quietly for a while after that and it was quiet. Arthur listened for Eames' breathing, easily made out in the stillness. "But let me distract you from dwelling on the heavier things by pointing out the stars that have come out above us," Eames said eventually. "I bet you've never seen so many on Ariel, with all those lights always on all over the place."

Arthur's view was partially obscured by leaves so he straightened, letting his head rest against the trunk as well. "Not on Ariel, no," he agreed, letting that sit as he recalled Eames' story about the first time he'd seen stars. He smiled faintly after a few moments, and then inhaled before breaking the silence, "When I was young, my father took me out to Greenleaf to visit my mother on base, we sat outside with a book of constellations, and I refused to leave until we found all of them, and even though she had to be up the next morning, she stayed almost the whole night. Or until I fell asleep in her lap, at least."

He kept it short, but Eames had said he was willing to listen. Still, it was a pointless story - but Arthur had enjoyed Eames' even if it was equally pointless.

"Heh, I can imagine that. Do you remember any of them? Can you, say, find 朱雀?"

Arthur remembered them, remembered his father reading the myths and legends associated with them, and he'd always had a knack for patterns and details. Arthur leaned slightly closer to Eames since the foliage was less dense, pointing. "There," he said, "above Orion," and settled back.

"We have to be up the next morning too, don't we?"

"Yeah," he agreed, but made no move to stand up and walk back. Aside from the cold, he was content and he doubted he'd be able to sleep right away, but he'd only linger as long as Eames did.

Eames sighed noisily, then turned over towards Arthur, supporting himself lightly on his right elbow until he could place his left on the root between them, careful not to knock over the lantern. "Are you still alright with sharing the bed? Not afraid I'll ravish you in your sleep or something equally foolish?"

"Ariadne seems to think I should be asking you that question," Arthur said, then quickly added, "- the former obviously." He, honestly, didn't mind, but he didn't have a real reason to prolong it. Not unless Eames opted against experimental sleep aids. He had an excuse tonight though, considering the lack of other sleeping arrangements. And no, he needed to stop this. He didn't want to share a bed with Eames, he'd grown used to it. They needed their space, a chance to draw some lines, because he could take advantage of Eames just as easily as the other way around it seemed. They just had to make it through one more night, and tomorrow the mattress would be brought over. Simple.

"So I should rephrase to are you afraid I'll encourage you to ravish me in my sleep?" Eames raised his eyebrows as he deliberately misinterpreted again before laughing. "Alright, the first one it is. I only managed to get half an hour without you. But you saw that one." Eames stood, picking up the lantern with his right hand, offering his left to Arthur. "Still want to get the mattress tomorrow as well?"

Arthur accepted the hand, but pushed himself up rather than force Eames to support his weight. He straightened out the creases that had taken form while he'd been sitting, but it did little to make his appearance more respectable, given the ill-fitted clothes. "If you plan on taking sleep aids," he said, letting the yes hang as an implication as he started the walk back. He didn't stray far; Eames had the lantern and it was black now, not simply dark.

"I hadn't exactly planned on it, the fact that Yusuf is done is just speculation." Eames lifted the lantern, not that it helped much. "I have to say that pushing the mattresses together is a seductive idea - bad choice of words there - but sleeping on my side does get tiring. I don't actually want us to separate, although that's probably painfully obvious."

Arthur let Eames walk ahead, Eames had made the trip more times and held the source of light, and then Arthur remembered his discomfort at people too close behind him. He kept to Eames' side. "It does," Arthur agreed, but at least he had his choice of shoulder. "And pushing the beds together, would that be close enough for you to get some sleep?" Because Arthur was willing to pretend it was for Eames' sake, willing to explain it away as a practical choice. It wasn't a problem because Ariadne thought it was. He'd told Eames it wasn't a yes, this wasn't sending mixed signals, it was a logical and rational decision. If Arthur helped Eames sleep, they could leave off experimenting with medication.

"Yeah, would be fine," Eames stated, pausing to step over a root. "It would be better than getting reliant on those meds. If they work and when we inevitably do leave, I would have to track Yusuf down to get them since nothing else helps."

Each of Arthur's steps were careful, but where he walked the ground was mostly smooth. He did stub his toe on a gnarled root, which had him grimacing, and hissing out a curse, but he would rather bruise his toes than fall. He made a vague noise of agreement. He was paying for his reliance on prescription medication each night, last night had been almost the only good night and he'd passed out, which was probably only marginally healthier than the snatches of sleep he had been forced to make do with. Tired may as well have become another facet of his personality. And it was beyond frustrating to put so much effort into sleeping, only to be woken by a nightmare and forced to try again with an overactive sympathetic nervous system. "Sleeping shouldn't be this difficult," he grumbled, on both their behalves.

"If nothing was difficult everything would be boring. Instead, we have a great appreciation for sleep because of our lack of it," Eames stated, lifting the lantern a bit higher. It didn't help the light be reflected in the slightest. "Don't hurt yourself," he teased, switching hands to hold the lantern and offering Arthur his left. "Here, let's be childish. It's better than falling and breaking your face."

"No," Arthur said, because he wasn't going to hold hands in the dark with Eames, though at least it wouldn't have been a moonlit stroll. He stumbled, only enough to disrupt his stride, but he caught his balance quickly. "I already kissed you, I think that's enough," he said, baring his teeth to mask his embarrassment. It came out more accusatory than it should have, Eames hadn't tricked him into it, they'd discussed it, Eames had just been a little forward about it. Arthur had still been the one to kiss him like it was a promise. "That's not..." He tried to apologize, before growing more embarrassed and frustrated for snapping in the first place, "I don't need your help, Eames."

"Who said I was talking about you? I'm pretty attached to my own face and toes, both literally and figuratively. That and I am still pretty tired and this would go faster if we worked together. Kissing won't exactly help us get to bed faster. Pun not intended," Eames chuckled. Still, he dropped his hand, looking forward and down at the ground again. "Offer still stands."

"And what were you going to do if I hadn't gone to find you? Did you even tell anyone where you were going?" Arthur asked, because the walk back was difficult enough with the lantern, how the hell had Eames expected to make it back in the pitch? Arthur keep his steps light, hesitant as he picked his footing, almost stepping on a root, but quickly adjusted to step over it. He kept an eye on Eames too, since he hinted he was having equal difficulty. Arthur wasn't sure if he'd been joking for Arthur's sake, or if there had been truth to it, but he was tensed to help Eames if he faltered. And he was glad Eames either deliberately or not, misunderstood the accusation. He wasn't sure if Eames had been trying to push for a chance at intimacy with the offer to hold hands, or if it was more genuine, but really, how much help would holding hands be? Arthur imagined it would be more awkward than helpful.

"I wasn't going to come back. I was going to sleep there." Eames shrugged before bracing himself as he slid down slightly on his feet, managing to stay upright even as he struggled to maintain his balance. "In the morning this would be much easier, there's at least some visual reference." He sighed, squinting into the dark again before taking another step. "Right now no one will be surprised if we break something."

Arthur inhaled, agitated, "You didn't feel the need to mention this to me, at all?" he asked, trying for level but it came out stern. "Did you think I'd just, what, go to sleep while no one knew where you were? How is it okay for you to leave without saying anything, but if there's even a chance I might have found another bed, I have to inform you?" he pressed, irritation slipping through. Eames would have been out here the whole night and Arthur wouldn't have been able to find him. Arthur wouldn't have had a fucking clue. Even the thought had him anxious, his concern turning into misplaced anger.

Eames stopped, surprised. "I didn't... I thought you'd just assume I'd just gone off to do something, talk to people. I never thought you'd go look for me. You'd get the bed to yourself and we wouldn't have had to talk about the whole... thing, with the kissing, I mean, I know I was wrong now but it was what I thought. I know why I care, after all, but I'm not a telepath. And I thought I was the only one, that I was projecting my stupid feelings on you, why would that ever make you comfortable?" He lowered the lantern slightly, frowning and looking away. "I'm sorry now, but it wouldn't have been any better than I deserved."

"Damn it, Eames, it was a kiss. You didn't throw me to the ground and -" Arthur let out a harsh breath, "You're right, you're not a telepath, so tell me did I, in any way, indicate I was more than slightly uncomfortable? And fuck off, okay, because I didn't deserve you leaving without a word so you could throw yourself a pity party because you thought I was mad, or would be mad, or uncomfortable. I spent the whole day without you -" and what? Missed him? He picked up the pace, rejecting the thought. "Am I upset about the circumstances surrounding the kiss, yeah, did I want you to spend the night out here? No, jesus, Eames." Arthur said, letting the anger spool out of him, "Did I even seem like I wanted to bring it up, because I wasn't going to until Ariadne caught up with me and you were avoiding me long before that." He could feel himself shaking, and he knew he wasn't that cold. "Is spending the night out here better than dealing with me?" Maybe he'd been wrong to come out here. Maybe they should both give up on this fucked up relationship before they both got hurt.

"No, no, it's not you, Arthur, please," Eames' tone turned begging. "But I promised you I wouldn't misread, I literally said it out loud, and yet I did, and I spent the whole rest of the day trying to forget it but I failed and I had to put the kids off the idea that we wanted to get married, of all the things, but without encouraging them so I had to tell them we were engaged and it made me feel like a piece of shit, indulging in... Yet I still wanted to share the bed and for you to trust me even though I'd clearly violated that. Just, I was more angry at myself than anything. And hearing everything from Ariadne's point of view? How angry were you after that conversation?" He huffed. "I won't do it again, I'm sorry... Thank you for coming to find me."

Arthur listened, focused on processing the words, letting Eames speak. His pace slowed as he filtered out the irrelevant pieces of information, well, less concerning pieces of information. The fact that Eames lied to a group of children should probably be addressed at some point. "You promised you wouldn't leave first," Arthur said, voice impassive. And he understood that Eames had his reasons, and Arthur knew he'd left Eames for worse reasons, but Eames had made a promise, the same promise he'd made earlier in the morning essentially. He felt heavy, and tired, but Eames had put up with worse from him based on less. Arthur knew Eames wanted to be around, by his own admission, but he'd still left without a word, and the fragile trust started to crumble. If Eames was going to flee at things Arthur had no control over... "I was pissed Eames, but I was going to talk to you. You didn't even give me a chance. I understand that you felt guilty, and maybe you still do, but... Eames, I've stopped running away, if you start..." He swallowed tightly, unsure what the rest of the sentence would be.

"I'm not leaving, I wasn't leaving, I was going to come back. I was just... Hiding. For a little bit." Eames caught Arthur's wrist, pulling him to a full stop. "It had nothing to do with you, I didn't even know you were angry with me. I know I don't like admitting it, but I'm scared too, and sometimes I need to go work things out on my own for a couple of hours and then I'll probably not find it in me to resist curling back up with you. And I already apologized for not telling you and I don't know what else I can say that unless you tell me to go, I will be right here, because I have lost the ability to be anywhere but by your side. It pains and embarrasses me to say it but it's true and as long as you don't chase me away for enjoying talking to you and touching you, I won't go. And I would like to stop repeating myself, if I could, because I sound like something out of a period romance and it's a little bit like talking to a wall sometimes." He frowned and ducked his head again, looking down.

Arthur's eyes snapped to the hand on his wrist, barely visible in the soft glow of the lantern. It wasn't a hard or painful grip and as soon as he pulled his arm back it was gone. "How can you know that? We barely know each other," he said, because that was too much. Eames couldn't be that dedicated to him based on _nothing_. And this time Arthur wasn't afraid because he was glass and Eames would shatter him. He was afraid because he was glass and he could cut Eames open. "How can you believe that you'll keep coming back, that you've 'lost the ability' to do anything else? Is this what you do? Convince yourself you're in love with the wrong people? You do sound like a romance novel, and do you know what romance novels are? They're just words we can't live up to. One day, you're going to wake up and resent me. You're going to hate that you wasted your time on someone who wasn't what you thought and can't be who you want."

He grabbed the lantern, ripping it from Eames' hand so he could continue walking, his heart pounding so hard within his ribcage it physically hurt. He'd wanted things to be the same after Eames' confession, but they couldn't be. As friends, it was fine to make promises, knowing that Eames believed he was infatuated - it wasn't okay. Knowing that Eames was clinging to him in the hopes of Arthur would finally give in, even if that wasn't his intention, they couldn't do this.

"I just want to make you believe me. And we don't barely know each other." Eames voice was fading with every step and Arthur already faltered. "Didn't you say you stopped running away? Like I said, if you don't want to hear anything about it ever again, or it makes you uncomfortable to hear it, tell me, and I'll seal my lips for good. Why would I resent you? It might not work out, that's true, but why you would think I'd have such a radical change in opinion is beyond me. Perhaps I shall go back to staying numb and silent about it all. It would work out best and you wouldn't question it and I would slowly grow out of it. Deny it should it ever be brought up again. Forget anything I said from tonight and it'll be back to stupid jokes and all the repair you could ever want."

Arthur had stopped; he had just claimed he stopped running, and his insides knotted in guilt but he kept listening. His heart had seized when Eames said he'd grow out of it, there was a selfish part of Arthur that didn't want him to, a part of him that ached at the loss of affection already, but he ruthlessly silenced that part. "And _that_ is why you'll resent me. You can't dedicate yourself to someone else's wants and not expect anything in return! That's... Eames, I don't want that. I can't pretend I don't know, and you can't tell me it won't hurt you. _Ariadne_ could see it," Arthur turned, and held the lantern out to guide Eames, "and you'll resent the fact I don't return your," Christ, the word sounded so childish, "feelings. You'll resent that you have to hide them, you'll resent me, because every time you do something for me, you'll be reminded of how little I do for you."

"Who says you don't do anything in return? And why don't you let me be the judge of what I'll think," Eames took several steps forward, stopping a little farther than he usually did. "Nothing grows on a barren plain, Arthur. I'm not sure why you're saying anything you are. You've never ignored me, you're not as bad as you seem to have an opinion of yourself and you didn't even tell me no. I can take a no, Arthur, really, if you really think you won't return anything, you don't have to lead me on. That will probably hurt more than anything. I think it's best if you figure out what you want and be honest with yourself about it and then you can come and decide. Because right now you keep on changing what you want me to think of you."

Arthur looked away, he was tired, his head still hurt and he wished he knew the answer. He wished he had some solution that didn't involve leaping of a ledge. If he said no, what happened? Eames was hurt and he closed the door on part of their twisted relationship, and he didn't know what parts they'd keep and what part they'd lose, but Arthur didn't want to let go of any of it. He didn't want Eames to stop. He pushed and shoved and railed against it, but he didn't want Eames to stop any of it, the teasing, the touching, all the stupid fucking smiles. He didn't want to say no. "I..." he stalled, trying to think, trying to figure out what he did want instead of what he didn't. Because there are two directions he could jump before the ground of indecision swallowed him whole. No would hurt now, but he could forestall a worse agony. No was... more familiar, more stable. Yes was... Arthur didn't even know what yes entailed.

"Why don't _you_ tell me what that kiss meant for you, and I'll tell you if you misread," he said, which was probably enough to show Eames it wasn't nothing for him either, and his heart was still beating wildly, his body fighting not to shake. But he wasn't ready to jump, he was inching his way along, trying to size the gap. Trying to figure out if yes and all its unspoken promises were worth it, because if that crumbled beneath his feet, if he fell... Arthur wasn't sure he had enough left to pick himself back up. And maybe this wasn't healthy, maybe they were both clinging to each other because they didn't have anything left to hold on to, but did that make it less real? Was it so fucking wrong to cling to the one bright spot in all this? Would he be inadvertently leading Eames on, if he let himself believe they could make this work? But, Christ, they couldn't even get friendship right. But that had been him, he had ruined it, over and over, and maybe if he stopped, maybe if they both made this jump, maybe if they didn't let each other fall... because this had never been about one of them. It was both of them, Arthur wasn't in this alone. He didn't have to be. He just had to make an effort.

Eames closed, his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "At the risk of sounding cheesy again, it meant that you'd be waiting. That you'd want me back as soon as I could come and you'd miss me. That's all. I don't- Nothing grand is going to change whether you tell me yes, or tell me no. It's not some big break that you can't go back on, you're burning no bridges behind you. If it doesn't work it doesn't work, if you refuse it now and change your mind later, I might still be waiting. There's no guarantee but there's no ball and chain to drag you down with your decision. But you have to make it, I don't enjoy being stuck in uncertainty forever, questioning every little thing I might want to do and comparing it to a scale of whether Arthur would like this or actively kill me for this. Can you understand that?"

Arthur swallowed, and he regretted taking the lantern, because now his expressions, every shift of muscle was visible. Every inch of flushed skin exposed. That was closer than Arthur expected, though he wasn't entirely sure what he had expected. And Eames was contradicting himself, if nothing changed about their relationship, if this answer could be taken back, why did it need answering now? He faced Eames, hard to see in the dark, half-covered in shadows, and he started to shake his head. He didn't want to say no, but he couldn't say yes. Not if he couldn't be certain. Not if he'd be leading Eames on and trying to make himself feel something. Because he couldn't hold relationships together even when there weren't problems, what hope did he have of holding on to this one?

"The answer is no," he said, subdued. His heartbeat slowed, the muscle constricting tightly, and it took everything he had not to turn and start walking, to get away. Because this answer would change something, despite what Eames said, and Arthur didn't want to face it yet. But he stood, because he'd promised he wouldn't run.

"Good." Eames let out a breath. "You don't have to look so down about it, like I said, it was the answer I had been expecting." He took the last couple of steps, keeping his hands in his pockets. "Off we go, then? It's already late and we still have a little bit to walk."

"Yeah," Arthur answered, turning and resuming the careful walk back. He didn't acknowledge the rest, instead trying to rebuild walls Eames had torn down. Because now he couldn't give an indication of so much as ambivalence. He'd said no, and he couldn't let Eames hold on to the idea that it would one day be a yes. The no was as much for Eames as himself. He'd rather sever ties now than wait for Eames to realize Arthur wasn't enough.

He stayed quiet, finding he had nothing left to say and unsure if Eames even wanted to speak. But Eames said nothing even as they drew near to the tent.

Arthur slipped in, the silence had allowed him to shore his defenses, distance himself before Eames had the chance. He hung the lantern, and lifted the pad from the nightstand, idly wondering why Morena hadn't bothered to make a request for the services before slipping into the bed facing the wall. Eames had already confessed to not wanting to feel the way he did about Arthur, the least Arthur could do was make it easy not to. He moved as close to the fabric wall as he could, offering Eames plenty of room while he resumed his research. This time on pulse defragmentors, trying to find the models that were compatible and the means to build them.

Eames could turn off the lantern when he saw fit, even with the settings adjusted to white lettering on a black background the screen was visible enough in the dark for Arthur to do his work. Easier to focus on that than the fact that Eames was already treating him differently. Eames was usually full of chatter but now he was quiet. He knew there was a good possibility it was partially his fault, he hadn't initiated conversation either, and he knew the rejection was fresh. Still. Eames had said a no wouldn't change things. Arthur was glad he'd known better.

"Darling, if you aren't able to peel your eyes open tomorrow morning I will know why. Don't over work yourself," Eames chuckled behind him, the bed dipping under his weight.

"You realize I've been doing this since we've had the pad," Arthur quipped, catching the domesticity of 'we' a little too late, and then, even more belatedly, realizing how easily he slipped back into their more playful discourse. As soon as Eames opened his mouth Arthur's last thought went out the window. He shifted when Eames pressed against him, almost instinctive to nestle in with Eames at his back. He found being wrong didn't hurt, he was still wary, but maybe nothing would change, nothing drastic. He tried not to let himself hope as he continued reading.

"What, at night, really? Is that why you're so tired all the time? Should I confiscate it? What are you even doing on there? What is there to research? Did you look me up or something? That couldn't have been very interesting."

"Confiscate it and I'll break your hands," Arthur threatened flatly, smiling faintly because he doubted Eames would even try."I don't sleep well without medication, at least if I'm on this I'm not wasting time. There's a lot to research, this planet, your ship," he hesitated, but Eames hadn't sounded angry at the thought of Arthur attempting to uncover something on the Cortex, "you," another pause, the instinct to hide his wounds warring with his desire to be honest with Eames, he settled on a compromise, "what the Alliance has on me. Congratulations on that district Championship, by the way." The last was equal parts distraction and showing off. That hadn't been an easy find, but he was relatively certain it was Eames and not someone else with the same name.

"Mm, thanks. That was a while ago, I barely remember it." Eames shifted. "Do they really have that much on you? There can't be anything on there about this old rock, or else people would learn to watch out for it and you're only looking up defragmentor's now, so you had to be doing something this whole time."

Arthur continued to read as Eames asked his questions, only devoting some of his attention to the technical jargon on defragmentors. "There are enough people missing to warrant questions, and there are always conspiracy theorists. I've tried identifying what the surface is composed of, but without tests it's impossible to know with any certainty." He scrolled, reading over the words twice because he hadn't been paying enough attention. Arthur shifted in discomfort, a part of him wanting to reach out, to talk to Eames about... everything, to listen to what he had to say, but Eames was tired and Arthur tried to let the foreign impulse die. The habit of falling into silence, of simply not talking about it, was easy. He needed distance, and Eames probably did too, confessing what he'd learned about himself, about Dom, pouring over the details, was not distance. And Eames had enough burdens to bear, so he didn't address the question of how much the Alliance had on him. How much they'd done to destroy him.

"That's not an answer." A sigh and Eames shifted again. "Obviously the conspiracy theorists would be wrong so that's hardly a viable avenue to search down. But if you don't want to talk about it, it's fine."

Arthur knew he should have waited until Eames was asleep before attempting to use the pad, but then he would have needed to reach over him and Arthur couldn't guarantee that Eames would have slept through the movement. "Conspiracy theorists are the best sources I've got," Arthur said, pursuing that conversation for the moment rather than Eames' attempt to steer it back toward the mounds of evidence the Alliance had collated, "and so far they've provided several possible orbits, surprisingly accurate predictions of weather patterns, plausible theories on how it hasn't been detected by satellites or passerby." Buried among perfectly useless drivel about Alliance experiments, extraterrestrial involvement, dimension crossing and other patently ridiculous notions. But the practical, the practical was worth siphoning through. The more information Arthur could draw from the better, and conspiracy theorists could be surprisingly thorough, and happy to cite precedents that supported their pet theories.

"Well at least someone in their mother's basement knows we're out here. That's comforting," Eames said sarcastically.

Arthur rolled his eyes and could have left that to conclude the conversation but... He couldn't ignore Eames twice, not when Eames gave him the option to state he didn't want to talk about it. "And the Alliance has... It's everything Eames. When you spend your life dedicated to the system, there's a lot of you for them to find," he admitted, defeat in every line of his body. It still ached. To have given them everything; years spent putting his life on the line, years of watching the people he knew die, and then more years rooting out people that took advantage of the Alliance. Blindly believing that in return the Alliance was working in the people's best interest, in _his_ best interest. And then in a moment, all that he'd worked for was gone. Everything he'd built up, torn down, _again_. He swallowed and stared harder, willing himself to concentrate on the merits of one type of defragmentor over another. The feeling of caving in came and went, more frequently in the quiet hours of the night, and Arthur hated himself for being unable to move on. Hated these lapses and the recurring pain of being hollowed out. And hated that Eames was a witness to this moment of weakness.

A hand came to rest on Arthur's hip. "If nothing else, you can count on me to help you get a fresh start somewhere. There's always something for everybody out in the black, under the radar, and I have a feeling it'll be worth a try to even clear your record. If you want to, of course."

Arthur lifted his head to stare down along his side, to Eames' hand on his hip. He wanted to leave it, greedy for the small comfort, but he shouldn't. He put his own hand over Eames' lightly and started to reconsider. His hand lingered until he grew agitated with himself and he, as gently as he could, moved Eames arm back. "Go to sleep, Eames," he said. He was too tired and discontent to make even a verbal commitment. He didn't miss the fact Eames hadn't extended the offer to stay with him again, and perhaps if he had been in a better frame of mind it wouldn't have felt so dismissive. He might have realized it could have been Eames trying to protect himself, trying to avoid pressuring Arthur, but he couldn't see it that way, not right now.

" _You_ go to sleep," Eames shot back. "Don't work too hard, information is only useful when you can communicate it to someone. And you have all the time until we have a space worthy ship again to get back to me on it."

Arthur let out a mild huff of amusement at the almost child-like retort. He sobered quickly as Eames mentioned he had time to make his decision; sometimes it frightened him that Eames seemed to read him, know him, so well. And Eames wanted him, saw something there if his quote about growth on barrens plains and his challenge against how much Arthur did for him. But, it had been Ariadne that told him, not Eames. Eames had planned to bury the feelings, didn't want them, so maybe there wasn't enough there. They were the same, in that respect, Arthur supposed.

He inhaled deeply, and continued his research. He'd try in an hour or two, once he'd settled more. Eames had a valid point, he did need sleep, especially if they were heading out to Rook.

One hour turned to two turned to three, and research into defragmentors turned to further research on himself. He couldn't stop himself, reading it with a sick sense of dread and fascination, reading both circumstantial and fabricated evidence about Dom's suicide resubmitted as murder and then shifting to research suicide itself. Pouring through clinical information that he can distance himself from, some of it surprising and leaving him uneasy. He should have done this years ago, it was how he handled what he didn't understand, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. Three turned to nearly four and Arthur knew he needed to try a different tact as his eyes began to sting with strain and fatigue. He shut down the pad and closed the case, twisting carefully and hovering partially over Eames to set the pad back down on the table. The thud of the device hitting the surface unavoidable, but as quiet as Arthur could make it. He eased himself down, hoping to keep sudden movements and noises to a minimum in an effort to let Eames remain asleep.

He let his lids close, the relief instantaneous, as his breathing further aligned with Eames'. He listened intently for any indication he'd roused Eames, prepared to soothe him back to sleep if need be. Eames shifted, but only slightly, getting comfortable and pressing in towards Arthur just slightly.

Tension rolled off him at Eames' settling in and within a few moments he found sleep, falling in sync with Eames and steadier for it. He dreamed, for once, that he was back in his office, everything in it's proper place until Eames appeared in the room. He smiled brightly at Arthur, rooted to his seat even as Eames drew nearer, leaning over the partition while everyone else continued working. Eames scoped out the office with exaggerated features, tutting, and somehow Arthur knew it was at the sameness, that Eames considered it boring. His grin returned, confident and enthusiastic as he held out his hand.

"Let's be childish," he said, waiting for Arthur to take it, his smile turning sly, "and then let's be very, very adult." He winked. And as Arthur started to reach for the hand, he realized it was no more than a dream and it began to crumble. He blinked his eyes open, meeting nothing but dark fabric, and he lifted his head to catch sight of Eames. Enough to make sure he was still asleep, at least. He shifted carefully to face him, every intention of waking him then paused.

Diffuse light fell though the shirts neither of them had bothered to pull down the night before. Eames was in the same position, the familiar dips and curves of muscle visible enough in the pale light, and it hit Arthur. He could have that. He could have every inch of skin, inked and otherwise. He could have Eames' smiles, and his laughter and his teasing and his overt displays of affection for no reason. That wit, that charm. He could have all of Eames. And all he had to do was change his mind. There was nothing left for him to lose, all Eames had offered was a chance. He'd said he could change his mind again if it didn't work...

Arthur lifted his arm, carefully seeking out Eames' hand with his own and lacing their fingers as he gently pressed his forehead between Eames' shoulder blades, waiting for Eames to wake before even attempting to explain.

Eames woke in several moments, clearing his throat softly and running his thumb across Arthur's. "Arthur, luv, are you awake?" With that Eames' fingers loosened, a little bit of tension creeping between his shoulders.

Arthur squeezed Eames' hand, still determined to do this, willing his pride and his unrelenting fear that this would just be another failure in a growing list of failures in his life to fade. He couldn't live the rest of his life avoiding everything that might hurt, that might be difficult. Being with Eames wouldn't be settling, Isaac would be settling, finding some planet and some other unsatisfactory job would be settling. Eames was... Arthur didn't have a word to describe Eames. And maybe he didn't want one. "You," he cleared his throat, clogged with equal parts sleep and nervousness, "you said the offer still stood," he tried, speaking into Eames skin, unable to be direct. He needed to be though, didn't he? If not for his own sake, than for Eames. Eames deserved to hear it, Arthur just wished it was easier to say, or that he knew how, but all he had was holding Eames' hand and hoping that the man understood the offer Arthur was after wasn't to hold hands.

"Always," Eames answered instantly, before flinching, the verbal stop evident in his shoulders again. "Is... Is everything alright?" He returned the pressure of Arthur's hand. "Why... did you change your mind?"

There were two fairly loaded questions. Alright was scarcely in the realm of possibility, but Arthur was about as alright as he could be in his circumstances. He was adjusting. He let his hand relax, though he didn't make any attempt to disentangle and he didn't move his head, preferring to address Eames' back. "Do you want to try?" he asked, cautious, rather than answer, because maybe Eames would prefer to let whatever feelings he developed fade and Arthur didn't want to risk himself if Eames believed they didn't stand much of a chance. Arthur tried to ignore the swirl of doubts, the thought that he was setting up for another fall, that he wasn't ready for this.

"Of course," Eames started. "Of course, Arthur. You're just scaring me a little bit. I know you don't change your mind at the drop of a hat, darling. What happened?"

Arthur wasn't sure how to answer, and he shifted a little, but didn't draw away. He couldn't say it was because a dream, he wouldn't have based a decision on no more than a dream, but he didn't know how to give shape to his thoughts and what led him to change his mind. "I got some sleep," he said, trying for a joke, but it may have fallen flat. He inhaled and exhaled, steadying himself. "You and Ariadne both pushed," he said, easier to explain if Eames understood that Arthur never wanted to say no, it had been a reaction more than an answer. He let that thread die and sought out another. But maybe Eames was right, this wasn't like him, and if he couldn't explain himself, maybe he wasn't being logical about this. He'd had a dream that wasn't awful, and in a moment of weakness wanted Eames. Maybe only because he was there, Arthur tried to convince himself. He slowly tried pulling his hand away, Eames was doubting him and Arthur didn't have any assurances to give. "Nevermind, forget it," he said, tired and unable to mask his disappointment with himself.

"No, don't forget it, Arthur, but please understand." Eames ducked his head slightly, catching Arthur's fingers between his again. "I will believe you no matter what you say but I don't want to... Right now I would like nothing better but to turn around and kiss you silly until you forget even the thought of changing your mind again. But I want it so fiercely that I can't trust myself to make an objective decision. I already made the mistake of pressuring you for an answer once and that obviously got us nowhere. You've called me a liar so many times I've become afraid of that part of myself, that I would be manipulating you into anything is too heavy a thought to bear..."

Arthur let his hand remain where it was, wrapped in Eames', fingers slotted neatly. He turned his head in guilt at being reminded of how often he accused Eames of being manipulative. Hardly any wonder why Eames had tried to avoid him, if he thought he had manipulated Arthur. "I don't know if this is... anything, if this even has a chance... but I still," and this moment cemented the thought that he'd never become a writer or an orator, the words delivered into sheets and pillows, his cheek still pressed to Eames' back, "I want to try. Could be worth a shot."

Arthur was certain he'd hit rock bottom, twice, but he was still alive, still struggling, and there was still that fear of gaining something just to lose it, but Eames shared that fear. And if Eames had weathered this much, and not only tolerated, but wanted... If it didn't work Arthur still trusted Eames to help him set up and settle on some planet where he could live out the rest of his days quietly. Arthur knew he didn't want that, not after meeting Eames, not after being offered so much more. "And you haven't - you haven't manipulated me. I wasn't afraid you'd read something that wasn't there," and Arthur grew agitated with himself for still having difficulty admitting it, "I was afraid you'd read something that was. And I Iashed out at you."

Eames sighed. "I think it's worth a shot," he stated plainly after a moment. "I think it's worth the whole clip, darling." He brought Arthur's knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss against them gently before letting their arms settle on his ribs. "What's left to ask is if it's fair that I had to wax poetic and you get to skip out on that opportunity? And did I say it right, that you would want me back and miss me?"

"I don't come with poetry," Arthur said, as much an attempt at humor as a warning, still rabbit-hearted and uncertain that any straw could be the last for Eames. But he was lying beside him, his hand bound up in Eames' and the press of lips still haunting his skin. "And it was more simple than that. Just... I want you." But then, Arthur didn't necessarily have control of what a kiss said, because he couldn't make an argument that he hadn't missed Eames. Maybe he'd been saying more than he realized. Maybe that was what Eames saw in him. He dared to move in closer, lifting his head to slide in the space between Eames' neck and the pillows while the rest of his body pressed along Eames'. They had time to linger before breakfast, provided everyone else allowed them.

"Do you? I'm glad of that, you're quite welcome to have me," Eames said, chuckling and settling again.

Eames was chuckling and relaxed, and Arthur found it nearly overwhelming that it was because of him. He didn't have to let things happen, and he didn't have to be the only one fighting for them. He allowed himself to enjoy the closeness, a few minutes of almost-dozing with his palm pressed to Eames' chest, before reluctantly lifting his head and stretching out his spine. "We should get up," he asserted, gently pulling his hand away again to start preparation for the day. He stifled a yawn.

Eames whined but rolled back onto the new space, looking up. "Do we have to?" He grinned and flexed his shoulder. "Maybe we should stay a little longer? Laze around a bit, it's not like all that work is going to go anywhere," he suggested, smiling.

Arthur smiled slyly in return, edging his way entirely out of bed instead of just seated. Another detractor from being tucked between Eames and the wall, it was difficult to extricate himself, especially since Eames was being somewhat uncooperative. But Arthur found it didn't bother him. "We could, but I thought, the sooner we left, the sooner we could come back, tell everyone else we're turning in early..." he narrated as he padded around from the foot of the bed to the night stand. He grabbed a pair of socks and and his shoes, and perched himself on the edge of the bed to put them on, fighting to keep a smile down.

"I do like the way you think." Eames sat up finally, flexing both his neck and shoulders. "Should we be getting some things from the ship then?" He pulled a shirt from the pile before turning and raising his eyebrows, starting on buttoning it.

"Yeah," Arthur answered, the second bedding foremost on his mind. Which would potentially make it quite obvious why they were turning in a little early. Well. They had already convinced Isaac there was something there, the whole village may have already assumed that given that they were sharing a tent and no new mattress had been brought in. Ariadne would only know if they gave something away, and Arthur still had no plans to speak to her more than necessity dictated. The rest of what they might need, condoms at the very least, lubrication if Eames had it, should be easier to slip undetected. "We have to attach the trailer to transport all of Isaac's equipment, there should be enough room for the mattress." Arthur said, and then moved on to what may present a problem, "Did Yusuf mention any spare bed frames when you asked?" It felt like lifetimes ago, but had been less than a week. He turned, catching sight of Eames doing up his buttons and watching skin disappear behind fabric.

"I think so but I haven't seen the condition it was in. If he doesn't, because I honestly don't remember, we can always put it on the floor. It's not wet nor particularly cold so it would work well enough."

The mattresses on Eames ship had been larger than the one here, even if they couldn't push the beds together the second mattress would be an improvement. Arthur wasn't concerned, and he nodded his assent. He paused, looking up at Eames approaching with mild confusion until their lips met, soft and warm, and Arthur was half kissing him back before pulling away. "Later," he chastised, slipping off the bed and to the side to escape Eames and continue his truncated morning rituals, there wasn't time, nor energy to waste on his exercises, instead it was stripped down to the basics. Hair and teeth, straightening out clothing as much as he could.

"Later it is, but be warned that I will indulge now, just because I can." Eames smiled, self satisfied, scooping up water to wash his face over the bowl, smoothing the rest through his hair instead of a towel. "And I've waited long enough and through never, so you'll just have to excuse me if I get a little handsy."

Arthur paused, just letting that sink in. Eames didn't have a reason beyond wanting to, no urgency, just... it wasn't quid pro quo, it wasn't for the sake of other people, Eames just wanted him. And, God, how many times had Eames said it? He hoped the man never grew weary of saying it, because Arthur doubted he would ever tire of hearing it. Or how much visibly brighter Eames seemed, and Arthur still couldn't quite get over that he was the cause. He felt absurdly pleased with things and it was hard to keep his voice even as he rebuked, "We'll be out in public."

"As a certifiable thief, I know my way around pockets and making things look like other things, don't you worry." Eames pointed with his toothbrush for emphasis, before putting it back in it's place. "Two people can only observe so much area and it wouldn't be anything that they wouldn't expect, would it?"

"I'll agree you're certifiable," Arthur teased, corner of his mouth slightly upturned, pulse quickening at the thought of Eames stealing affection throughout the day, not that Arthur would let him. Highly inappropriate. Would give him an idea of the extent of Eames' skill, though... "but I doubt you're that good." But he still hadn't told Eames to stop, or not to try. Now it was almost a challenge. He waited by the entry way for Eames to finish.

"Darling, you know better than to challenge me, surely," Eames grinned, drawing near and stealing another kiss for a fraction of a second. Arthur hardly had time to react before Eames was out of the tent, which he counted as a point and realized he might not mind losing. "The last time that ended in an explosion if you don't remember. And they're my clothes, so I know which pockets are where. That is, should I be stealing actual items."

He followed Eames outside, features smoothed into something neutral. "If I recall, you've only lost challenges," Arthur said, which was only true because Eames had called their water fight his loss. He squinted against the sun and scanned the area, making note of where familiar faces were. Ariadne was in line, Yusuf - no where in sight, Isaac - also absent and Morena seemed to be mingling at the tables.

The pockets were to Eames' advantage, not only because he knew them, but because the pants were loose and that was to any pickpocket's advantage. Still, Arthur knew he'd be trying, and that was all the advantage needed.

"Depends on the way you're looking at the rules, although I do distinctly remember forfeiting at least the one. And the water thing wasn't a even a challenge, more like a scuffle with a handicap, which isn't the case anymore. But like I said, depends on the rules. If they're clear this time," Eames said, getting on the back of the line. "But I think right now the game is how many awkward social encounters can we have within an hour."

Arthur followed, returning Ariadne's wave with a curt incline of his head and ignoring whatever her response to that was. "And that would depend on what we tell people," he intoned, and realized that may have been better discussed in their tent. Obviously nothing changed for Isaac, but Arthur didn't necessarily want to tell Ariadne and as far as Morena knew nothing was currently happening. Though they hadn't spoken to her since the day of the party, unless Eames had paid her a visit between watching children. One of which was now waving excitedly while his parents tried to quiet him. They smiled apologetically to Eames from a few places ahead.

"Clear rules?" Eames used the closeness to nip at Arthur's ear and right after waving to a family of four. Shameless. Arthur flinched, instinctive, before quickly sweeping the area to see if anyone noticed. No one seemed to have paid mind to either Eames' indiscretion or Arthur's reaction. He scowled at Eames, but only because Eames had gotten the better of him, there was no heat behind it, only competitiveness. "I keep on making up the rules. I believe it's your turn this time. And if there's a prize or not," Eames chuckled. "And I can handle Ariadne if you'd like. Hopefully Isaac will show up on his own."

Arthur turned thoughtful as he served himself, biscuits that reminded Arthur of hardtack, thin white gravy that smelled decent at least, there seemed to be more of the beef, though fried and crispier. "If you can manage something without the others noticing, that's a point, if they do notice you lose two points. If your score is positive, you decide what we do tonight, if it's negative, I decide." He said, voice pitched low to avoid being overheard, because this was so wildly inappropriate, but he couldn't back out and his pulse was already thrumming in anticipation.

"So if I stop right now, I'll win? That doesn't seem fair." Eames filled his own plate, holding it to the side as he spoke. "Or do you want me to win, is that it?"

"The points don't apply retroactively," Arthur said, but he doubted Eames wouldn't continue, if only for the sake of proving he could touch as often as he liked. He considered the challenge a little further, but it was difficult to keep it from being one-sided when Eames could simply score a point and stop. Arthur had counted on Eames continuing the game. "And if I prevent you, it counts as being noticed." So far his reflexes had been lax, used to Eames' presence enough to let him close, but if Arthur was consciously prepared he stood a chance. It was why he'd chosen to subtract two points rather than one, a handicap of sorts, but perhaps he should have increased that amount. "Considering your habit of forfeiting and the number of times you've asked about my fantasies, I thought you might want me to win." Arthur said casually, smug even, as he selected a fork and started heading for the table. He wasn't petty enough to outright ignore Ariadne, it would probably lead to more trouble than it spared, but he would let Eames do the talking.

"You mean the one time? Since the first time I was asking how you managed to remember something you couldn't remember. Useful skill, like I said and then you went and misinterpreted. And you're not very good at this, are you, there's barely any motivation for me within the rules to continue once the score is in positive. Also, does being noticed count for each person who sees? Because I can think of a few very creative ways to forfeit right this second." Eames grinned again, bumping their shoulders impishly as they walked, chuckling.

Arthur frowned, now determined to make this feasible and enough of a challenge for Eames and prove he was good at thinking on his feet. "You need ten points to win, if you score between ten and zero we do nothing tonight, if you score less than zero I decide, and for all you know my only demand is that you sit silently on the floor while I research. Is that enough incentive for you?" Voice still low, and he couldn't help but glance to watch the faces of people that passed. "There are limits to what can be asked, though," he added, because there were things he was not willing to do, and there were bound to be things Eames wouldn't do. Considering Eames' injury he probably wasn't up for anything wild, but it paid to be safe and while he trusted Eames to respect his boundaries, he wanted that confirmed; even if it should have gone without saying. Arthur didn't want there to be any miscommunication.

"Aah, there we go. That's more like it, far more interesting." This time he didn't grin as wide, they were within earshot of the tables they passed. "And of course there are limits. I believe I'd be far too absorbed in every inch of skin you have to even want something out of the ordinary. What would even be considered strange- don't answer that, actually, I think I know." Eames shrugged nonchalantly, putting his plate down on the table as he did. "You and your research, however..." He shook his head disparagingly. "Good morning, Ariadne, hope you've gotten a good enough rest?"

They were too close to the tables and to Ariadne to continue the conversation, but Arthur found he was curious to know what Eames considered strange and what he suspected Arthur would consider too strange. And, in fairness, he had his share of screwball one nightstands, people that had seemed entirely normal until the door shut, granted there was a level of anonymity, but Arthur was no more psychic than Eames was. He didn't know what Eames might want.

"It's important," Arthur defended his research calmly, taking on the opposite side of the table because he refused to make it easy for Eames. Though he did hope one of them won, he wasn't immune to Eames, either. He started eating as Ariadne answered.

"It was good," she started, a little hesitant, "and what about you guys, how was your night?" Arthur could tell she was aiming for casual and missing by a wide margin without looking at her.

"Nothing special," Eames answered with a shrug, poking his fork into the first bit of meat on his plate. Arthur made sure to keep his feet as close to under his chair as possible. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it was the most tactical considering he was seated directly across from Eames and the man's propensity for childish antics. "A little bit of arguing you know, the usual. Speaking of which, I think you owe someone an apology?"

Arthur glanced up this time, features marred and unhappy. He didn't want a forced apology from her, he didn't want anything from her except her aid in repairing the ship. Judging by the way she bristled, she wasn't feeling very apologetic herself, despite her earlier hesitance.

"I stand by what I said, he needed to know. I couldn't watch you guys keep dancing around each other, you're both my friends and I didn't want to see either of you get hurt because of something stupid. And everything's fine, right?" she asked, glancing between them. Arthur went back to eating, unwilling to comment, and slightly agitated that Eames had taken it upon himself to try and have Ariadne play at kiss and make up. He wasn't interested.

"Sure, everything is alright, but imagine, that wasn't what I meant. But no is no, if you feel that you were in the right, what can I say, we'll carry on as if nothing happened. But moving on. Have you seen Isaac around? He is going, if I'm not mistaken? On top of his expertise, we were thinking of bringing the second mattress back in the trailer which I also hope is ready?"

Ariadne seemed to deflate, but she answered Eames questions, "Yeah. He's loading it up, or he said he was. We might need to wait for him to finish a later breakfast, but we should be good. So I guess you talked to Yusuf about the pills?" And even Arthur could tell she was trying not to sound disappointed as she continued eating.

Eames paused and Arthur watched him spin the lie almost effortlessly. "I haven't yet, but he's sure to be done with them? If not, more space is never a bad thing."

"It's been something he's been working on and off again for a long time, I think you gave him an excuse to dedicate more time to it," Ariadne said, trying to get them back to normal.

"Well, then, I'll ask when we get back," Eames said, stretching his legs out under the table, taking up much more space than usual. Arthur kept his feet where they were: out of the way, but couldn't be certain that Eames stretching his legs was considered a move. His eyes flicked up from his food, silently questioning and watching Eames' expression for any indication he should deduct points. Eames showed no sign so Arthur'd let it slide. Bastard.

"Isaac should be back by now, he was mostly set up yesterday. I thought he was just double checking," Ariadne voiced, and she still sounded strained and slightly unsure. "And I think Morena's spotted us..."

"Well, then, maybe you should go check on Isaac. I'm sure we can keep Morena occupied. She won't get off our backs until she talks to us anyway - we still have her pad."

Ariadne nodded to Eames, murmuring, "Good luck," after she polished off the rest of her food and rose from the table. Something that may as well have been an invitation to Morena, as she glided through the tables, occasionally stopping to chat with the other residents.

"Any chance it will just be about the pad?" Arthur asked, sarcastic. It looked like she was speaking to Theo and his husband, who had told Arthur Eames had headed out into the woods without a lantern. Great. He didn't trust their luck that no one had noticed or told her about last night. Between that and Arthur's intoxication, she would have plenty to discuss. At least she hadn't paid a visit while he had been hungover, small mercies.

Eames scoffed and shook his head, before nodding goodbye to Ariadne. "After the grand old time we had two nights ago? Hardly. Helped clear off the gawkers and everything. We'll need all the luck we can get. But honestly, Arthur, if you could refrain from going on benders? In retrospect it was actually a pretty scary thing, that much alcohol in that short a time," Eames said, wrinkling his brow.

"Noted," Arthur said dryly. He was aware of the health risks, he knew it had been a bad idea, but he felt he'd been punished enough yesterday. He didn't make a habit of binging, and he wasn't sure how he'd ended up drinking that heavily. He remembered their argument, he remembered deciding to drink, after that it was something of a blur, if anything at all. "But at least now you know my darkest secret. I want to be a pretty princess," he deadpanned, though he was curious as to what the hell had prompted that, drunk or not that was an oddity. "So what do we tell her, we went out for some late night calisthenics?" he quipped. Wandering out into the woods at night wasn't exactly reasonable behavior, and the idea that they could both lie convincingly enough to her was a farcical one. She didn't trust Eames any more than Eames trusted her, and Arthur had a decent poker face, but she'd seen through it as easily as Eames did. He unconsciously slowed his eating to match Eames' pace, taking smaller bites and lingering on them.

"Because calisthenics isn't a metaphor or anything. If she brings it up... When she brings it up: I thought I lost something important, say my toothpicks for example and don't make fun, they have sentimental value, and forgot the lantern in my hurry. You hadn't seen me go off just became worried when it started to get dark and just stick to the same story you really do have. Close to the actual truth as possible, less likely to mess up." He sighed and closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, chewing. "But really the answer is nothing, we have work to do, good bye."

He scowled, calisthetics wasn't a euphamisum and he wasn't seriously suggesting they say it. Eames story was a good one, he seemed thoughtless enough to go searching for something without accounting for the oncoming darkness and had a toothpick in his mouth frequently enough that it was something he might misplace and later want. Sentimental value, though? "The toothpicks don't have value, you have an oral fixation," he corrected, "and we tried that once, it barely worked then, when she wasn't interested in anything but where you learned to," he grappled for a better word than lie or trick because it was more subtle than either and more comprehensive as well, as much to do with Eames as whoever he was interacting with. Arthur gave up, assuming Eames would understand what he meant and that he was trying to refrain from using terms that Eames might have found insulting. Avoiding Morena was hardly an illegal confidence trick, but Eames was something of an artist in that area. And maybe he should just call it that. Art.

"Oi, you can't just buy this little thing anywhere, you know. And don't disrespect my fixation, it's better than ruining my whole air supply with nicotine and tar." Eames touched his pocket then put his hand back on the table, letting it support his chin once again. "Where I learned to what, lie, cheat and make sure no one can pull the same fast one on me? And just because it doesn't work doesn't mean it's not the right answer. You know she threatened me for information, I don't see how that's an okay component of any sort of functioning relationship outside of the underground. Although those sort are usually solved with guns." He glanced back over to the table where Morena was chatting. "Anyway," he continued, looking back at Arthur. "You just stick to what actually happened with you and bargain whatever part of your soul you'd think a fair trade for the pad if you still need it."

"She threatened you?" Arthur asked, a part of him skeptical of the severity, but more largely concerned with what information she wanted, what she was willing to do for it, and why.

"Threatened to try and get information out of you, through deceit and honest to god slander, if I didn't cooperate. And that was right after the whole Companion business which wasn't pleasant as it was. But I would imagine if he doesn't have one, someone will just have to do without a frame, that's not too bad, could have not had mattresses at all if we weren't so lucky with the landing. It's neither cold nor wet on the ground." Eames changed topics without so much as blinking, roughly estimating the time Morena was within earshot without actually turning and looking, as if the whole previous exchange had been about bedding as well.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Morena said as she neared. "Off to fix your ship again today, I hear. Did you get to enjoy the party at least a little bit the other night?"

"We did," Arthur answered plainly as he resumed eating. If she wanted something, she'd have to be direct.

"So quiet." Morena had invited herself to sit at the table, opposite Ariadne's spot, folding her hands on top of it. "No fun to talk to at all. You do realize I only mean to help? Sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me, that is true, but it's something a lot of people fall into, being stuck out here for so long. There's really very little else to do and had you, Eames, not made the rounds I would guarantee you your tent would be host to quite a lot of interested parties."

"But since you refuse to be seen without the other, and if you still need that pad I lent you..." A pause for what seemed like drama. "Eames, if you could take on kitchen duty for tomorrow? I think Claire needs a little bit more rest, since she'd been trying to work through most of her time, and spend time with Tracey and the children perhaps. And we do have somewhat of an order to the place, we might as well start integrating you two into it. Not to mention judging by the contents of your fridge, you know what you're doing."

"I don't see why not," Eames stated succinctly, finishing his food.

Arthur frowned, he was the one using the pad, she had to know that, so why did she insist on tasking Eames with preparing food for an entire settlement? Arthur had every intention of helping, taking on the brunt of it if he could. Cooking couldn't be that difficult, he knew he could make breakfast if they still had rice. It may not be the most appetizing fare, but it would be edible.

Morena studied them while Arthur continued to eat, finishing the last of his biscuit. "I heard about your little jaunt into the trees, forgive me, but I am curious," she said, losing some of the coyness, "I do so prefer to hear it from you than from outside observers. And considering this seems to be a trend of reckless endangerment between the pair of you, I am naturally concerned."

"I thought I lost something while playing with the kids earlier. Didn't think to take a lantern, in my hurry, fortunately Arthur was concerned enough to go find me. As it happens I hadn't lost anything at all, it was in my pocket the whole time." Eames didn't bother making the conversation anything but stilted. "But, really, nothing to worry about, I'll watch Arthur's drinking habits, he'll watch my carelessness, we really have a perfectly good system going, no need for concern."

"We should find Ariadne and Isaac," Arthur interjected before Morena could ask anything more, and he didn't wait for a response before rising and collecting his plate. He didn't feel the need to ask for details regarding the meals, not when he could ask someone other than Morena.

Morena sighed heavily, but then smiled, "I'm glad to hear there's nothing to be concerned about, and I am disappointed to find the pair of you as busy as always. You'll run yourselves ragged."

"Doubtful, but we can certainly try," Eames quipped and followed suit to stand just as Arthur made his way towards the sink to rinse his own plate.

Arthur heard footsteps and turned from turning on the faucet enough to see it was only Eames and then he turned back to the sink, wary. He braced himself to grab the arm reaching around him as Eames dropped off his plate over his shoulder, focused on catching the transition from innocent to part of their challenge. Then he felt a hand on his waist and froze. Clever bastard. But they were almost in plain sight, someone had to have noticed. Arthur tried to survey the crowd, wanting to know if anyone had seen them despite the serving area between the tables and kitchens. Everybody was busy with their own business.

"Any idea where they might have scurried away to?" Eames asked. "That and we'll need to grab lunch for the road, at least to get things rolling a bit faster."

"We'll grab lunch and check the transport first," Arthur said, letting the hand remain as long as Eames was willing to risk it. The longer it stayed, the higher the chances of Eames being caught. And it was... nice. Eames' hand resting lightly over his shirt.

"Just bracing myself, obviously," Eames chuckled, letting his hand fall and stepping back to a more acceptable distance.

"Obviously," Arthur said dryly as he awarded the point, turning around to face Eames now that he was both finished clearing the plates and had enough room to do so. Eames still had nine more to go, and it would be more difficult with Isaac and Ariadne present. He considered his own options, he couldn't block every move Eames made, Eames could claim innocence, which was why he hadn't stopped the arm reaching around his shoulder. Still, he had a few ideas of his own.

"Time to grab lunch it is."

He followed Eames, glancing through the stores of food and quickly cataloging what was on hand. He noted kilos of rice, which meant Eames could sleep in. Arthur knew how to boil rice. There were some canned goods, protein pastes and additives, spices he recognized from Eames' supplies. Various dried foods - fruits and meats - seemed plentiful as well as crackers. Staples of space diets, Arthur supposed. He handed Eames some of the crackers and dried foods, assuming that was what they were allowed to take since it was all Ariadne ever packed.

Most of the familiar lunch fare in plain sight or at least somewhere Arthur had looked before and with Eames' help they were packed quite quickly, filling up the water bottles last. Eames tossed the bottles each into a carton, putting the rest of them on top of each of the two piles made of equal weighted cartons. The last part was simply taking them to the transport.

Eames hoisted up two. "That should be everything food wise."

Arthur wanted to insist that he take three out of the four, or that they make two trips, but Eames was already testing the weight and it seemed steady. Still, Arthur wanted to help, he knew Eames was perfectly capable. He hefted up his cartons, checking the weight himself. Not terrible, but with both arms he had better weight distribution. It seemed alright but he watched Eames attentively to make sure he wasn't in pain or on the verge of dropping anything.

Satisfied that the water bottles wouldn't spill out and that the cartons were taking up as little space as possible in the trunk, he moved on to examining the trailer. If they kept the mattress on its side, there would be enough room. There were certainly enough straps. He started tugging on the ones wrapped around the equipment, not much give, which was good.

Arthur had seen the thing haul out what they'd taken from Eames' ship, and the scrap metal from days earlier, he knew it could support the weight. Everything seemed well-secured, but he tugged on a few other fastenings just to be certain. He checked the hitch, ensuring that was attached. And he did all of this while tracking Eames' movements, vigilant, and doing his utmost not show anything but preoccupation with the trailer. He wouldn't mind if Eames won, would probably let him if it was that or nothing, but that didn't mean he had no plans of his own for the night. There were a few things he'd like to do to Eames, and it was a competition. Arthur preferred to win, even if it seemed he was at a disadvantage.

Eames wandered by, hovering right behind his shoulder without much of an indication to what he was doing. With Eames standing this close it would be suspicious if Arthur didn't react, but it was hard to say that standing near was a move that he had prevented. He wasn't sure what Eames was attempting and he let Eames see that he was being watched, his presence noted, and then he went back to examining the equipment, still tensed.

Arthur went still as he felt Eames' hand slide across his back, completely shameless where Arthur had expected something more sly. Considering there was no one besides himself and Eames, he was willing to concede that had been a mistake. Now he was just focused on not reacting as Eames toyed with the back of his neck, soft lips against his skin, chasing away his composure. He swallowed, fingers tensing around the straps. "Still only one point," he said, edging towards breathy but not crossing. It went against every instinct he had to nudge Eames with his elbow, but he did. He had some self-control, and a sense of propriety to uphold. The day wasn't over yet.

"Oh, no, whatever shall I do?" Eames chuckled but relented, taking a step back again, pocketing his hands for good measure. "Back seat?" he half offered, half challenged as Isaac and Ariadne finally deigned to appear but before they were quite within earshot.

"Not a chance," Arthur said with a vicious smile, he wasn't an idiot, sharing the back with Eames might as well have been a forfeit. Far too easy for Eames to slip a hand inside oversized pants pockets and rove around until Arthur was a wreck, probably while discussing the weather with Ariadne. Arthur resorted to smoothing his clothing, as if the act of putting himself together physically might help him mentally.

"Chicken."

Arthur didn't react and levered himself into the front seat as Ariadne and Isaac arrived, Isaac apologizing while Ariadne hopped into the driver's seat.

Ariadne was more quiet than usual, which suited Arthur. He realized he'd forgotten the pad, but he knew the outline of what they would be doing. Attempting to prop Rook up enough so Isaac could weld it correctly while someone cleaned the interior. The only real maintenance left was the defragmentor, and until they had one there wasn't anything to be done.

The ride was uneventful, Arthur noted Eames' occasional glances, but those were harmless despite the wave of tension they created. He stepped out of the vehicle and, along with Isaac started unloading some of the machinery - hopefully they'd be able to pry enough of Rook's nose out of the ground to lower the landing gear with it.

Once they were ready, Arthur checked and re-checked that everything was aligned properly before giving Isaac the clear to run it, the whine of the bar extending and the grinding gears was nearly deafening along with groan from Rook itself. The mechanism locked with Rook partially lifted, rubble falling away enough that the chassis was free of obstruction. Arthur waited for the rocks to stop falling before he ventured closer for a better look.

It seemed like Eames hadn't broken the landing gear after all, which was as good as it got. It wouldn't get the ship any more airborne or space-worthy but at least they could straighten it out without taxing the jack too much. Eames tapped on the hull above the noise before turning and waving, pointing up to the cockpit, meaning to go up. Ariadne was already waiting on a rock near the door.

Arthur nodded, acknowledging that Eames was headed up. He'd remained where he was to watch the gear go down and motion to Eames if there was a problem. Isaac stayed too, as a second pair of eyes, but he kept his distance from Arthur.

The engine roared to life as Eames got to the cockpit and Rook trembled, starting to rise. Watching Rook rise under her own power was something else and Arthur didn't bother to keep the smile from his face. There was a long way to go, but this was progress. She creaked and groaned, but she was upright. And steady. Arthur watched as Ariadne climbed inside while he and Isaac headed back to the transport to set up the rigging so Isaac could start welding. The man was still maintaining a careful distance and they worked in relative silence, it was a nice change from his barreling through conversation and undue familiarity.

Arthur finished setting Isaac up in good time, holstering him in and standing by while Isaac tested it. The man was able to maneuver and bounce from near the top to the ground with relative ease. He said he was good, and Arthur assumed he knew what he was doing as he slapped his face guard down and began heating the metal to start the weld.

He circled around and headed inside, they'd break for lunch in a few hours and there was a lot to be done in the meantime. He checked the cockpit first and when he found it empty, he moved to the next, and found both Eames and Ariadne going through storage units. "Are we searching for something specific or organizing?" he asked.

"Pah, organizing," Eames said disparagingly. "Looking for anything that might help rig a defragmentor or replace one and also we'll need to take out the facing, see how much we have of it and which areas are the most exposed."

Arthur took a moment to think and tried to gauge which unit was which now that they had all been moved. He knew there was some plating that could be used, and he'd grouped what he came across in the fourth drawer of one of them. It wouldn't be all they needed, but Eames had gone through most of his own things and put them back, and Ariadne had gone through the rest. "The cockpit and the room adjacent are the worst, and the front of the cargo hold," naturally as that was where the impact was, and he rattled off his approximation of the area damaged and how much facing was absolutely necessary, and how much they'd need to complete the more superficial repairs. Some of the wires could be bundled and tucked away, others it was better to find facing. He continued to narrate as he checked the fourth drawer on the unit nearest the door, and then the next.

Ariadne must have noticed; she jumped to the fourth drawer on her unit, "Pay dirt," she said, smiling and pulling out the small metal sheets. Her smile fell, "Ugh, we need more than this."

"There's probably more in the cargo bay, although I can't tell you which box," Eames said, shutting his own drawer after finding nothing.

Arthur wouldn't know which boxes to check either but he was prepared to volunteer in order to save time. They didn't need three people sweeping one room, especially not one that had already been examined a number of times, but before he could do more than open his mouth, Ariadne chimed in, "I'll go check the boxes?"

And she was half out the door waiting only on Eames' approval.

"Sure, go right ahead. You know what it looks like," Eames allowed nonchalantly, fascinated with the contents of the next drawer. "Arthur can help me with checking for bits and pieces here while you look for it. Shouldn't be terribly difficult to find, but there might be several boxes and it'll probably need counting."

And she was gone before Arthur could even suggest he go instead, her footsteps echoing through the metal. He gave the drawer a dark look, at what was either Eames' luck or his own misfortune. He decided to watch Eames carefully, but then, if he evaded Eames for the remainder of the day his prize would be... no sex. The score was only two, and if Eames couldn't so much as draw near he wouldn't be losing points either. Arthur considered revisiting the rules, but he didn't want to admit he was eager, because he doubted he'd ever hear the end of it. He tried to return his attention to the various parts in his drawer, but he was still very conscious of Eames.

"So... How was setting up? Did Isaac issue any prognoses?" Eames asked casually, looking up from what he was doing without bothering to hide his grin. He closed his drawer, pocketing his hands.

Arthur turned his head, rather than continue to watch from the corner of his eye, he met the grin with narrowed eyes, wary and suspicious. "Fine, and the same prognosis he gave when I outlined the damage. A few days worth of work." Arthur answered, not sure if Eames was preparing something and trying to distract him, or he was merely curious. The hands in pockets made Arthur lean a little more towards curious. Maybe it was too easy like this, but Arthur didn't let his guard drop.

Eames took a step forward, keeping his hands where they were. "I see. So we have a few days to figure out what to do with the defragmentor. I think that's far and away enough time to figure... something out." He took another step, shifting his balance and inserting himself into Arthur's space, only a few inches left between them.

And this is where he wished he'd considered the issue more carefully, because Eames was clearly planning something, but with his hands in his pockets and only nearness as an indicator could Arthur really call it and take points? "This isn't subtle, Eames. The score is zero," he decided to take his chances, but he wasn't sure what he'd do if Eames disputed it. Technically it wasn't a move, and Arthur couldn't even say what it was that he had thwarted. Eames might just take the loss though, and that would mean he would only have to stop Eames once more and then he would keep away from Eames as much as he was able.

"Is it though? I'm just standing here. And I don't remember subtle being anywhere in the rules. Just don't get caught..." Eames placed his left hand on the corner of the unit behind Arthur.

Arthur's eyes flicked to Eames' hand distracted by both the movement and the sound of it hitting the metal storage unit, and he almost missed Eames leaning in, but he'd learned. He couldn't do much other than turn his face, and he was prepared to count that since he didn't have room to step away and he couldn't shove Eames, but then he felt the hand on his waist. _Again_. Shit.

"... three." Arthur admitted grudgingly, face still turned.

"Well, two out of three isn't bad," Eames murmured, snaking his arm farther around Arthur's waist. He closed the space between them completely, using the fact that Arthur's head was turned to nip lightly on his ear, bringing his left hand to Arthur's waist as well. "I'll have to get really creative the next time..."

"You aren't getting any points for this," Arthur said in warning, but didn't attempt to move Eames. Letting Eames nip at his ear and letting him touch and hold his waist, and trying not to focus on either, but fuck. Arthur had to fight to keep himself still. But it would pass. Eames was only doing it for the sake of the challenge, he'd stop, Arthur was just waiting it out. Warm hands on skin, not just over his clothes, sinfully soft lips on his ear. Just... wait it out. He didn't quite trust himself to do anything but stand as still as possible.

"Who says I want points?"

Arthur swallowed and fought to remain steady as Eames' mouth traced along his jaw and down to his neck and he shuddered as more skin was exposed, Eames' nimble fingers dancing across his waist and higher. He exhaled shakily and wrapped his hands around Eames' wrists, "There's work," he tried to insist, turning his head to face Eames,. There wasn't much to find though. Arthur had poured through the contents enough to know there wasn't a pulse defragmentor tucked away somewhere. Eames knew it, too.

"Is there?" Eames tucked his thumbs into Arthur's waistband, disregarding the hands on his wrists. "I suppose there is, but I'm sure it's not going to go anywhere... And Ariadne has a handle on the more important stuff for now..." He brushed a teasing kiss over Arthur's lips before withdrawing slightly, making sure he was still in reach.

Arthur had gone months without any stimulation, he could handle a few more hours. He should be able to show some self-restraint, but Eames was pressed in close, and Arthur couldn't help but be lured in, following after and catching Eames' bottom lip before pulling back and desperately looking away. "We should, ah," and it shouldn't be that difficult to think and reason, he shouldn't be rendered that inarticulate, "help her." And he was still holding Eames' wrists, letting the thumbs rest where they were.

"Maybe in a bit... After you do that again," Eames purred, shifting his weight in the direction Arthur had turned, pressing their lips together once more.

That sounded reasonable, and when Eames' mouth met his he was kissing back, and where Eames guided him he moved, aligning their bodies, Eames' palms pressing their hips together. Arthur let go of Eames' wrists and slid his hands up his arms, never once breaking the kiss. One hand stayed, gripping just above the elbow while his other hand found the back of Eames' head and tangled his fingers in soft, short hair near the nape of his neck. And it hit him again that this wasn't about the challenge, this wasn't about anything other than Eames wanting him. He kissed back harder, hungrier, because fuck if he didn't want Eames just as badly.

Eames broke the kiss, parting for breath but staying near, barely moving anything else. "So, about that work," he stated, just breathless.

Arthur followed again, but caught himself before pressing his mouth to Eames', still tantalizingly close, fingers still running along his spine sending shivers through Arthur's veins. "Asshole," he cursed, every bit as breathless. Reluctantly he let go, his hands lingering a moment before latching onto Eames' arms and gently pushing them away. Because, yes, there was work to be done, that had been his point, he couldn't argue against it now and he flushed at Eames delivering the reminder. He knew better.

"A 'bit' has passed - any further and we'd be liable to end up on the floor, seeing as neither of us, if memory serves, has even an ounce of self control. I had thought to make you giving in an automatic forfeit, but I see now that it would be too easy." Eames let his arms be pushed down, straightening the hem of Arthur's shirt as they fell to his sides.

Too easy? Arthur's expression soured, "That's the kind of thing you'd need to discuss first. I have self-control." And he did, he may not have been sure where it went, but he had no doubt he could summon it had there been stakes. He tried to straighten his clothing further, but it was difficult with Eames so close and the storage unit just behind. "You want to add that to the list of rules, fine." Arthur said, sure of himself enough to add another disadvantage. He had discipline, however, and now he had good reason to resist any further attempts.

"Absolutely not, why would I give you more reason to avoid me? It was why I didn't state it, if you get it into your head there's very little I can do to beat that. I'm not that intent on winning to chase you away. It's much more in my interest to stretch the game out as long as possible." Eames took a step back, freeing up the space between them.

Arthur gave an indifferent look, it didn't matter to him, and Eames wasn't mistaken about Arthur's resolve. He inhaled, piecing his composure back together as he steadied his breathing. Eames was already moving his hand towards Arthur's face and he caught it. For a moment he couldn't decide if it warranted subtracting points or if it were part of their undefined break. He couldn't, in fairness, take points if he hadn't been willing to give them. "Are we back on?" Arthur asked, prepared to leave the score at three unless Eames made some sign he'd been caught.

"I don't remember ever stopping or calling time," Eames offered, grinning. "Continuous gestures all count as one point in my book. Now, however, I suppose I'm back down to one." He extricated his hand. "Let's go help Ari," he said instead, grabbing the facing from its drawer.

If Eames was willing to take the loss, "One," Arthur confirmed. Still only one more loss and then Arthur could safely retreat until the end of the day, which wouldn't be so difficult since Eames needed to keep his gestures undetected. He gave a single nod at the suggestion they help Ariadne, and headed for the cargo bay.

As they walked down the stairs, Ariadne was in the process of prying open another box, this one with wires instead of facing. "I've found two so far, is there going to be any more?" she asked, shaking her head at the wires.

"Not sure, we should probably count what we have so far, it might already be enough."

Arthur tried to calculate and configure what they currently had and compare it to the bare minimum. He came up short. It wasn't by a wide margin, but that was already reduced to only the essential amount of facing. "We should keep looking, we need as much as we can get." And he may end up regretting it, but finishing Rook was more important than losing this game, "Someone should continue to search while the others start putting the facing we have in."

He didn't make suggestions, because maybe Ariadne would prefer to work with Eames than keep rummaging through boxes, and she was a quick enough study that Eames could easily teach her what to do. The only potential issue was putting up some of the higher facing, Eames couldn't use both hands to reach up over his head, Ariadne may not be able to reach at all, unless Eames had a step stool tucked away somewhere. He probably did.

"Yeah, it's probably enough to get at least a head start. Well, Ari can keep looking, we can start on some of it in the meantime, after which it'll probably be lunch time, but after that we'll put all three of our efforts into it," Eames said. "We'd best start from higher up, too, so no wires fall on our heads while we're working." He picked up a couple of strips, digging through the box to find the cutters and drill.

Arthur helped collect the materials, Eames still only had two hands and some of the larger facings were hard to get a clean hold on. "We'll be in the cockpit," Arthur called down to Ariadne from the stairs, leaving off the implied 'if you need anything' as he climbed. The metal rattled under his feet as he made his way to the control room. He set down the facing and took up the measuring tape, half an eye still on Eames as he set to work on double checking the measurements to ensure they were accurate.

Arthur remained vigilant throughout the day, always aware of what Eames doing and where he was at a given moment, but Eames made few moves. Some of it brought about by the fact that dealing with dangling wires and cutters was not the ideal time to surprise someone. And Eames had his own work, and at some point Arthur had shifted from watching out of suspicion to watching because he still felt the need to watch over Eames' injury. He knew Eames was capable of taking care of himself, that injury had crossed the threshold from dangerous to inconvenient - provided Eames took reasonable precaution -, but he couldn't shake it. But between the work and Ariadne's call for aid, their game was largely forgotten. The score remained at one, even as they loaded the trailer up. Isaac left what equipment he could, confident it wouldn't be stolen given that the next nearest township was a few days and no one here would steal welding equipment from their best chance off Black Rock. The mattress, with accompanying bedding, fit without issue, and while the others searched for the tarp, Arthur picked up a few more personal items that would prove useful, if not tonight then soon. He pocketed his find discreetly and headed out to the transport, everyone else waiting.

Isaac had taken the front seat which left the only room for him next to Eames in the back.

Arthur gave a final check on the mattress even though he knew Eames and Isaac had secured it before he slipped into the backseat. Ariadne started the engines and took off, her attention on the path ahead while Isaac began trying to discuss something about the last time he'd needed to use a harness on a job. Arthur didn't bother to listen, his attention mostly on Eames, a habit by this time. He regretted creating an option where neither of them won, he should have left it at anything less than ten meant he decided. But that had seemed unfair, since Arthur wouldn't have to accomplish much to keep the score below ten. Even if he hadn't stopped Eames in the storage room the score would have been four without any contribution from Arthur. Ah there. Eames hand obviously hovering over his knee.

Ariadne's eyes were still boring straight ahead, Isaac wouldn't have thought anything strange, and so Arthur had no qualms about lifting his hand to quietly block the movement, catching Eames' hand and swiftly lowering it to rest between them where Ariadne couldn't possibly see, not without an effort. And because Eames wasn't the only one that could make one thing look like another, Arthur twisted around, almost pressed against Eames due to the limited space. "Wise choice," he said for only Eames to hear while he feigned checking over the mattress once more. He settled back in his seat, relieved Eames had decided to take the loss. Arthur wasn't sure his pride would have allowed him to let Eames make such a drastic comeback, though at this point it was a lost cause trying to claim he wasn't as anxious for it as Eames had been.

Eames snorted and shook his head, leaving his hand where Arthur had placed it. They sat in comfortable silence, Eames letting his knee press against Arthur's with the lack of room. The rest of the ride was silent and uneventful and even Isaac had fallen quiet. Arthur assumed it had more to do with the man being tired and worn out than any consideration on his part. Ariadne parked the transport and Arthur let himself out, small aches making themselves known. Constantly holding his arms up had left his shoulders sore and he rubbed at his shoulder blades as he waited for the others to exit the vehicle.

He moved to the trailer and started undoing the straps and lifting the tarp to free the mattress. Isaac glanced towards Eames, almost as if asking his permission. Arthur shook his head in near disbelief. Eames rolled his eyes after shaking his own head, coming over to help Arthur himself.

Arthur hefted up his side, resisting the urge to tell Eames to let Isaac do it. It was only a mattress, and a fairly light one at that, the only difficulty stemming from the size of it. Arthur just wished Eames would rest before exhaustion set in, let the injury heal instead of testing it constantly. It felt too much like nagging though, and he'd save the battle for a time when Eames was doing something that was more likely to cause harm.

"Don't trip now," Eames warned, slowing a little so Arthur could take the chance to turn around. "Really, I can carry the weight, it's not so heavy. The faster we get to the tent the less I'll have to hold it up, as well."

Arthur kept the mattress gripped at the center to prevent it from tipping, and to avoid straining his arms as he continued his careful walk backwards, head turned to the side, and he trusted Eames to warn him if he were about to lead them into some obstacle. "Do you think I can't?" Arthur challenged, because he was fine and perfectly capable of taking on the bulk of the weight. Eames knew why he was doing it, Arthur felt no need to harp on it. And they were moving at a respectable clip, Eames taking on more of the weight wouldn't hurry them any. Arthur picked the pace up, regardless, leading them into the tent. He was mindful of his feet as he moved further inside and up to the bed.

They propped up the mattress on the bed and Eames took a step backwards to double check the proportions although after several years of sleeping on it, he should know how big it was. "Now if Yusuf does have an extra bed frame, then we will actually need to work together," he said, heading out to Yusuf's already. "Are we being greedy and keeping the other one or just changing it to mine?"

Arthur followed. "We did work together, and it isn't greed if no one else would be using it." he responded before rapping against the makeshift door. As it happened, there were extra frames but they were all disassembled and half rusted, the only useable one thankfully a good size. They spent the rest of the time before dinner setting up the frame. Ariadne arrived then left to hold them a place in the dinner line.

"A door would be nice," Arthur complained, the number of times people wandered in and out without warning starting to grow old. He missed having privacy. He waited for Eames before attempting to lift the mattress and set it inside the frame.

"Could always tie the strings on the door or zipper it, seeing as that is what they're for, if a pain to use rather than a typical door and lock." Eames stood, taking up the other side of the mattress in order to lift and plop it into the frame. It fit fairly well, all things considered, perhaps a little too snuggly but without an overhang. "That's real close," he voiced his commentary, walking around the now bed so to grab the bedding so they could make the bed and push it against the other.

That done, Arthur let Eames go to dinner first, lingering only long enough to pack the bag they would need for their shower. It didn't take long and soon enough he was sitting down to eat the slightly soggy noodles that were today's dinner.

Arthur was content to eat in relative silence, half listening to other people until he determined it was nothing more than useless chatter and what he deemed unhelpful information. He pace his meal, knowing the longer he took to eat it the more full he would feel. An old trick, but one that worked and one Eames seemed to be employing as well.

"Glad to be sleeping in separate beds?" Ariadne asked, disturbing the peace, "With the extra room and all," and it was obvious to even Arthur she was struggling just to have a conversation. Or maybe it only sounded forced to him because he wasn't interested in talking to her beyond what he had to.

"Glad for the extra room, certainly," Eames dodged, poking at a piece of meat in his bowl."Too bad there's not enough room to really push them apart in that small tent. A bit hard to get by it but I suppose we'll manage. Really looking forward to sleeping after that much work, though."

"How have you guys been sleeping, getting enough?"

"For a habitual insomniac, I've been getting far more than I typically do. Also, as you doubtlessly somehow already know, I'm going to be responsible for the meals tomorrow, so that's a little less sleep and more work there."

"We," Arthur corrected automatically around a mouthful of food. He resumed his chewing, but Eames was an idiot if he thought Arthur was going to let him get up early and cook breakfast for an entire settlement without help. On the other hand, if Eames took charge of lunch and dinner alone, Arthur could take Ariadne and Isaac out to Rook again, unless Eames trusted the two to work on his ship without them. And maybe he shouldn't assume he was anymore trustworthy in Eames' eyes. Rook was more than just a ship, she was his home, Arthur wouldn't fault him for not wanting anyone to work on her without him.

"Oh, no, I didn't. Does that mean you're not going to Rook then?" Ariadne asked as Arthur finished eating. He could only pad out dried beef strips and fruit for so long.

"Surprising," Eames quipped but continued, ignoring Arthur's correction. "And I suppose it will depend. I'll likely die of boredom if I stay here just to make food for three hours out of the whole day. I could leave and come back, given it's only a twenty minute drive. And we already had a break recently but I suppose if Arthur really wants to help we can stay and..." he parted his hands in an all encompassing gesture, "play cards the whole day."

There was no way going back and forth would work. "We should check the scrapyard again, see if we can find more steel for Isaac and something that we can rig into a pulse defragmentor, and we still need to remove the windshield we found the first time," Arthur suggested, explaining for Eames benefit, "The scrapyard is less than ten minutes by transport, if we leave the trailer hitched we can take everything we find in one trip at the end of the day. It's better than carving out nearly two and a half hours in the middle of the day and then leaving almost an hour and half early." Heading back to the scrapyard was something they needed to do anyway, and tomorrow seemed more ideal than a full day they could have spent on Rook.

"I only meant me leaving, not everyone else, so you would have the usual amount of time. It's not like the transport is in use all of that time you're on Rook." Eames pushed his empty plate away, considering. "The scrap yard idea has it's merits though, and if we can dig out a functioning windshield, that would need welding as well. And perhaps there will be useful details we can find for the defragmentor."

That answered the question of whether Eames minded letting others to make the repairs for him, and most of what needed to be done was cleaning. The cockpit had been cleared of glass and debris, but Eames' unsecured belongings had been thrown around. The autolocks on some of the drawers had fastened and kept shut, but the ship had been blown off course so suddenly it had been too late for the rest. "You can decide then," Arthur said, stacking his bowl into Eames' and taking them both as he stood. It didn't matter what got done when, if they visited the scrapyard tomorrow or in several days it wouldn't make a significant difference. "But we've got an early morning, so I'd like to shower and go." He said, explaining away his abrupt departure. It was true though, and it felt like less of an excuse since Arthur was starting to rethink his plans.

"I'll come to a conclusion in the morning," Eames said, standing and picking up rucksack Arthur had brought.

Arthur headed for the kitchen, even with how slowly they'd eaten they were among the first to finish and put their dishes up. Arthur refilled his cup partway and downed it quickly, replacing lost fluid more than satisfying a thirst. He should be fine, his mouth wasn't dry and he didn't feel dizzy or overheated. It was precautionary. He headed for the shower once he made sure Eames had caught up, which was thankfully unoccupied. Arthur supposed everyone was still eating and socializing, but he was mildly surprised to find none of the residents taking an early one. He was far from put off by it.

"Imagine that, we're first everywhere today," Eames said behind him.

"I prefer it," Arthur commented, a part of him more relaxed and less harried now that he didn't feel they were scrambling. It was an unconscious tension he carried with him, that there wouldn't be enough food, enough water, enough daylight. Small concerns that built on one another beneath Arthur's awareness, because they weren't entirely logical. They hadn't been denied food, there had been no shortage of water and they still had two lanterns. Early meant he had time to himself, early meant he didn't have to rely on luck or goodwill. "But if you want to wait for the rest of Black Rock, that's your call," he said, dryly teasing.

Arthur turned the spigot, waiting for the first gush of blackish water to pass as he reached for the bag to draw out the towels and clothes. They hadn't discussed which of them would shower, and Arthur didn't care so he held off on stripping down until he could determine if Eames was waiting on him.

Eames made a face, squinting his eyes like he couldn't believe Arthur was hesitating. "Welp, your loss, I'll go first."

Arthur kept his gaze polite, drifting to Eames' pectorals as the shirt was undone for a scant number of seconds before immediately averting his eyes. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen, almost every night now, but he avoided staring as Eames finished undressing. It was different, knowing that not long from now he could touch and admire all he liked. He was equal parts nervous anticipation and anxious trepidation.

He focused on pulling out his change of clothes and packing away Eames dirtied ones. He listened to the stream of water hitting the metal and tried very hard not to imagine it running along Eames body in ribbons and rivulets. He reminded himself they were in public, that anyone could decide they needed a shower too.

Once Eames was done Arthur undressed in quick snaps of buttons and neatly stepped out of his pants and undergarmets. He didn't fold them yet, he would wait until he was dressed again, letting them rest in a pile on the ground. He stepped under the water, picking up the soap from where Eames left it and making use of it. He lathered and rinsed swiftly, glad to rid of dried perspiration. He reached up to turn the water off before drying off getting dressed swiftly. He wasn't body conscious, but he didn't relish in being damp and naked for longer than he needed.

"I really can't believe we're that early-" Eames started, in the process of getting water out of his ear with a towel before looking towards the camp. "And there they all are. Guess we just managed to luck out or they had more food than we did," he said in joking offense, stepping into his boots, throwing his towel over his shoulders to catch the stray droplets. "Hopefully the former."

Arthur did the last of his shirt buttons and collected the soap in its case before starting to fold his clothes. "You should have said you were still hungry," Arthur said, pinging in on Eames half joking complaint. He would have given Eames some of his if he had known, or maybe asked about seconds. Arthur could make do with less - and he ticked back. This wasn't life and death, Eames was probably hungry because he was used to eating larger portions of more substantive food.

"I'm always hungry, don't worry about it," Eames shrugged, following Arthur as they started back. He got a couple of waves but didn't break stride, greeting back shortly to say they were already turning in. He yawned when he entered the tent.

Arthur stepped around the corner of the bed to get inside. He draped his towel over the chair before he set to work on folding his clothes and tucking them away with the rest of the previously worn garments. He looked up at the sound of zippers, "That's not obvious," he commented as he stowed Eames' clothes and then the pack, then went to turn on the lanterns to afford them more than pale bluish light.

"Well, would you rather an implication or be caught in flagrante? Could have just been breezy, it's not like that's never happened before."

"I'd rather people left us alone," Arthur responded, moving to sit on the side of the bed and remove his shoes. Once off, he shifted further back onto the bed. He hesitated, but there wasn't going to be a smooth segue into things. He'd had a plan, but now, here, with the fact that it could happen, would happen... and with so much unsaid. "This could just be sex, there doesn't have to be anything else between us. I don't need that to sleep with you," he said, toneless, as he watched Eames. He had his guard up, walled off and distant. He wouldn't be hurt by the decision, it may have even been the safer choice. They could work out whatever sexual frustrations they had with each other without any other expectations.

"Romantic, Arthur, really, I'm touched." Eames snorted and shook his head, toeing off his boots again, tossing the towel onto the chair to dry with the rest. He paused, sobering and looking away for a little. "If that's what you want. Wasn't that the agreement? Do whatever _you_ want? I am at your service, darling. Of course, if that's what you want we should probably stop while we're ahead."

Arthur mirrored Eames, also looking away while he gathered his thoughts. "All I'm saying is... I don't want." He shook his head, rethinking his phrasing, "I've told you, I'm not good at this, at friendships or at any of this. I'm not - I'm not thoughtful and romantic, and if that's what you're looking for then you'll have to find someone else, because I don't want to stick around until you realize -" and he was trying warn Eames off, but it still stung, "I don't want you to have this idea of me that I can't live up to." Not if they could just have sex, not if that was all Eames wanted. But Eames didn't need to lie about wanting more than sex, considering the number of times they'd almost done it without a single mention of what it would mean. Eames wouldn't go through that much trouble when all he had to do was ask, when he _knew_ all he had to do was ask. He looked back up at Eames, raising a passive expression as he would a shield. "So, if you just want to sleep with me, that's fine and neither one of us gets hurt."

"Really, you think I don't know that?" Eames sighed and sat down, crossing his legs on the mattress. "Look, all... I never said I wanted any sort of grand gestures and I'd have to say that whether you're thoughtful or not is quite debatable. I don't see why you need to change anything, not when we've had some pretty terrible fights and I still stand by... trying. I don't want you to live up to some standard you're setting for yourself, by the way, for some reason. What I want is you to stay. Stay not because it's convenient or the only choice. Stay because you want to and I want you to. Sex is not a prerogative nor requirement, except for how I really want you and I know I will get even further attached to you, like a bloody puppy. So if _you're_ planning on leaving I... wouldn't suggest it."

Arthur's defenses cracked, pieces of the wall he'd built falling away at the _want_ and _stay_ and that those words were coming from Eames regarding him, and it wasn't about sex, the only thing Eames asked was that Arthur stay. But the wall didn't crumble. Not completely. And he narrowed his eyes to be rid of the softer expression that had taken hold, his mouth forced into a thin line. "No, you've never said you wanted them, but does that mean you don't? And I'd like to know what definition of thoughtful you're using because I can find a laundry list of people who would dispute you," he said sarcastically, shifting into more direct accusations. Sometimes the best defense was a good offense. He straightened his posture, trying to look as in control and imperious as he didn't feel. He'd avoided challenging any of Eames other claims, there wasn't anything he could argue and he was afraid to, he didn't want Eames to take back those words or regret them. He was as scared of losing them as he was hearing them, or maybe he was only afraid of hearing them because he _could_ lose them. Because he didn't deserve them, and he was trying not to sink into their unspoken promise. That if he stayed with Eames, Eames stayed with him.

Eames' expression turned disbelieving. "A laundry list that I'm certain were expecting flowers and chocolates and _why. does everyone. think. I want. to have. a wedding_?" he rocked his voice, exasperated, looking up at the ceiling of the tent. Arthur's face scrunched in bewilderment, because he had not been thinking wedding. At all. He hadn't had any specific gestures in mind, and he hadn't even meant that Eames wanted them now. Apparently, when Eames said grand hadn't been exaggerating. When else had weddings even come up?

"Or whatever it is you're implying because I really can't fathom what sort of other grand gestures you have in mind. But here, let me point out to you exhibit A:" Eames indicated the books, stacked neatly on the table, "exhibit B:" he drew out the case of toothpicks from where he'd placed them in the pocket of his clean pants, tossing them to Arthur offhandedly. "Hell, even the clothes I'm wearing, constantly being picked out by you because I can't have enough forethought to go get them before dinner. All things I never asked for but I wanted and here they all are. And finally exhibit C:" he drew back the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his shoulder to expose the stitches. "You could have gotten Yusuf or Ariadne to baby me, but no, you did it. I don't know what you're definition of thoughtful is, but this sure fits mine. Now if you would quit underselling yourself, maybe you'd realize you're really not the machine you like to think you are and make others believe the same."

Arthur was rendered speechless, mouth slightly parted. He'd barely caught the case of toothpicks. He struggled, his mouth almost starting to form words that he only swallowed. "They're just books and toothpicks," he ventured at last, lost, turning the case over in his hands "and your shoulder... that was my fault." Eames appreciated it, what he did, noticed it, and he'd been thanked once before for the toothpicks, but hearing everything else... "That's enough for you? Your own things and that I brought your clothes along with mine?" The skepticism was almost tangible, blanketing his other emotions save a tiny, frail thread of hope woven in. He settled, unconsciously, his posture losing it's rigidity.

"It's not the things that matter! But you clearly thought of me while you were deciding what to take from the ship, when you're taking your own change of clothes, and if that's not the actual dictionary definition of thoughtful I really don't know what is. My shoulder was no one's fault for goddsakes, drop that. So yes, it is enough for me." Eames pinched the bridge of his nose. "I really, honestly, haven't the faintest about what you're expecting me to want from you, Arthur, that will be grand and impossible. What else am I supposed to want, please, enlighten me. I am uncultured in your Central world ways. "

And Arthur should not have found it funny, but he did, and maybe it was just the release of tension, but Eames' brand of wit was inherently entertaining for however mildly insulting it was towards Arthur's upbringing. The amusement faded and he shifted and moved closer, resting his hand on Eames' knee. He almost retracted it, but then let it remain until Eames gave some sign. And so far, Eames had made most of the moves, and Arthur had won... He handed Eames his toothpicks to keep his hands occupied while Arthur leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, a sorry and a thank you all at once, moving his lips carefully. He pulled back, but only by centimeters, letting his forehead rest against Eames'. "It's just hard for me to believe..." he admitted softly, "I thought... I thought being thoughtful meant work and planning," but what he did for Eames had been almost instinctive, natural.

Eames had ran up Arthur's wrist, fingers at Arthur's elbow. "You think relaxing is work and planning so I can't say I'm entirely surprised," he breathed, quirking a smile. "But have I proved to you it's not? Will you drop it forever and let us get on to the far more pleasant part of the evening?" The grip tightened a little, pulling slightly. "Because while I am endlessly fascinated with expounding on your various oversights, do you really want to choose that over anything else you can tell me to do tonight?"

"Ass," Arthur called him, but there was a flash of teeth to his smile which made it hard to seem anything other than fond. He drew back, giving them both some space. Eames sounded fine with letting Arthur take charge, and given that he'd forfeited, Arthur doubted there would be issue there. He knew what he wanted to do, he wanted to pay Eames back for every stolen touch and then some, but he needed make certain Eames would be all right. "Is there anything I should know to avoid?" he asked carefully, because he'd rather deal with the awkwardness of asking than upset Eames, "And you can tell me to stop at any time and I will." It probably could have gone without saying, but it didn't hurt to make it absolutely certain. Considering Eames' history, over it or not, Arthur felt the reassurance was worth it.

"Oh, that's very _thoughtful_ of you but I think you'll have to try very hard to surprise me. Although I'd rather avoid near death experiences, if it's all the same to you." Eames returned grin for grin, moving forward as Arthur retreated back, pocketing the toothpicks so he could balance on his left hand. "If you think it's something out of the realm of the ordinary, feel free to run it by me before you start but I swear to you, if you start treating me like some sort of fragile piece of art I will actually clock you, no questions asked. That's all the warning you get."

"I only meant, I'm not going to walk out if you don't want to do something," Arthur amended, because he'd had a guy try to pull that on him. Arthur couldn't have left him fast enough and his expression soured at the memory. It had been more for Eames' benefit, however, and he made a note not to make a bigger deal out of it than Eames did. He had his permission now, and Arthur found himself unable to resist meeting Eames for another kiss now that they also had both time and privacy. He pulled back again, outlining his own needs, "If you get rough and try to hold me down, I'll pummel you," one or the other was usually fine, but the combination stirred up bad memories and wasn't enjoyable. He started to gently push Eames towards the center, trying to ensure his back faced the head of the bed so he could eventually recline.

"Dully noted," Eames breathed, eyes flickering between Arthur's eyes and lips, rocking forward as soon as Arthur pulled away. He held up his hands to show he was paying attention and let himself be maneuvered, before slipping a hand along Arthur's chin again. "But let's not dwell on the past, shall we? That's not exactly my thing, anyways. Either of those, I mean."

Arthur hummed, "Let's not," he agreed, his confidence returned, mischievous smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He took Eames' hand, pulling it away from his face and down to the bed. Arthur leaned in for a kiss now that he had Eames close enough to where he wanted him. "Tonight I want you to keep your hands to yourself," he whispered, and then moved to trail his lips along Eames' neck between words, "You had your chance," he nipped at his jawline, "to touch me all day." He lifted his head, meeting blue eyes with his smile still in place. "My turn."

"Ah," Eames twisted his fingers around the sheets, letting Arthur skim along his neck, tilting his chin to give him more room. "I can try," he answered, "although an argument can be made that it was nowhere near enough touching for such pay back. That would only be a fair requirement if I had the whole of you to myself for more than several minutes beforehand."

Arthur started slowly undoing the buttons of Eames' shirt without looking at them. "It's not my fault you didn't take advantage. You knew the rules." He moved forward, brushing his lips against Eames' and letting the soft kiss linger as his fingers worked. "But, if you want, you can decide how we finish this. If it's hands, mouths," he moved to Eames throat, tasting clean skin, "if you fuck me or I fuck you." Arthur thought that made it fair, Eames didn't have to forfeit, that act deserved some recognition and Arthur assumed they'd be doing some version of each at some point, he didn't mind letting Eames decide this one. He undid the last button and sat back to gently push it off Eames' shoulders.

"Are you counter forfeiting my forfeit, Arthur? I thought you were supposed to be deciding," Eames asked, eyes closed. He drew his arms out of his shirt, pulling on the cuffs before pushing it away in some other direction, out of sight. "And if you're expecting a straight answer while you're in the middle of undressing me, I'm afraid you're overestimating my decisive faculties a little bit. Or are just expecting an 'all of the above'."

Oh, God, if he had the stamina to do all of it in one night - a soft noise escaped from the back of Arthur's throat. He pressed in close, mouths meeting again. "You were the one complaining about fairness," he replied as soon as they broke apart, breathless, "if you don't want to decide, I don't want to hear any more complaints." It was a little difficult to reason, hard to think of anything but the feel and sight of Eames. He'd seen Eames shirtless numerous times, but here, like this, where he could touch and stare. He reached out, sliding his hands up over skin and muscle, over the dark swirls and inked detail, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"All I'm complaining about is not be able to touch you. And how hard it is to resist breaking that rule."

Arthur shivered, he knew Eames wanted to touch, that was part of why Arthur was denying him, teasing him in return, but hearing it again, further evidence he was wanted... Arthur shifted his attention back to kissing, pouring what he couldn't say into it, his apologies for taking so long, his gratitude for everything Eames had said and done, and then just how much he wanted Eames. His eyes shut and he licked at Eames' lips while his hands started to trail down and down, until he had one hand fumbling with the fastening while the other stroked Eames through his trousers, glad the material was relatively soft against his palm.

Eames whimpered but his hands stayed fisted in the sheets even as he pushed forward into the kiss. Arthur only broke it to catch his breath, panting lightly before surging forward, capturing Eames' lips and gasping into them as he finally managed to undo the snap with one hand, carefully sliding the zipper down. And fuck was he not going to last, not after all the failed attempts and more than a month since he'd even touched himself. Arthur pulled back once more, inhaling deeply and exhaling shakily. If he wanted to be able to do more than stroke Eames through his clothes he had to move things along. "Lie down," he ordered, still struggling to breathe evenly. His hands moved to Eames' waistband, trying to tug both pants and undergarments down and off.

Eames obeyed hastily, attempting to balance on his elbows but failing, ending up flat on his back. It was only for the best and he was able to lift his hips up, letting the fabric slide off them.

And oh, 我肏, of course Eames was fucking gorgeous and Arthur couldn't help but stare, still holding on to the pants as he studied every line of his body. Eames was completely undressed, lying back, and - and talking, Arthur blinked trying to figure out what it was about.

"You going to keep all that on the whole time?"

Clothes. Right. Arthur tried to regain some sense, clearing his throat and shaking his head. "I gave you a chance to decide," he said, husky, dropping Eames' clothes off the side of the bed. He drew closer, bracing his hands on Eames' thighs before slowly lowering his face and blowing lightly on the head. "You said you were clean?" Arthur asked though he really, really shouldn't. He should find the pants he'd been wearing before the shower and fish out a condom, but Eames had said he was clean, hinted at it at least, and Arthur wanted so badly - and maybe it was a chance to show he trusted Eames.

"Are you serious- mmm - Yeah, I'm good- oh-!"

The answer had only just left Eames' mouth before Arthur laved his tongue up the underside, starting near the base and lingering at the tip. He shifted further back, there wasn't enough room on the bed for him to lie flat, so he tucked his legs under himself, resting on his knees as he bent forward with his hands near Eames' hips. He flicked his eyes up, his breath catching at the sight.

Eames looked absolutely wrecked. "Fuck- Arthurrr," he groaned, breath pushing his ribs up shakily and he took his air with his mouth, trying to find some pacing. "You are literally the worst, 他媽的, 我的-"

Arthur hummed around Eames, taking him further in his mouth rather than respond. And, fuck, this usually didn't do anything for him, which wasn't to say he'd ever found the task unpleasant, but this was the lead up, this was what he did to make sure he got one in return, but Eames was such beautiful wreck and Arthur was so fucking close he might come in his pants before Eames did. Arthur shut his eyes, still bobbing his head and he tried to sneak a hand down, he pulled his mouth away to squeeze the base of his cock, whispering breathless apologies as he tried to regain even a modicum of control. He shuddered, panting against Eames' thigh before moving his hand back and wrapping his lips around Eames' length, swirling his tongue and he eased him further in his mouth.

Eames' shoulder had long since given out on him once more and when Arthur risked another glance Eames was pressing the back of his palm to his mouth. "Fuck, Arthur, I've only round ten more seconds here..."

Arthur whined, his throat vibrating more than producing actual sound, but he would make the most of that time, it wasn't like he was going to be able to hold out much longer, and he'd had a plan, he'd had a great plan, but he failed to consider what having Eames like this would do to him. His hand was back down his pants, the belt buckle digging to the back of his wrist and if he didn't focus on that he would be _gone_. He pushed against Eames' length with his his tongue, encouraging him along, tasting him, breathing him. And still _want_ pulsed through Arthur's veins. Like he'd never get enough.

"持-Less, if you do that-!"

Arthur let it hit the back of his throat, moving up with Eames as he swallowed. He slid his mouth off, and rolled over to the other bed, fumbling with his belt and waistband, because he wasn't going to ruin his trousers and he didn't have time, and fuck, "I need a sock, something, anything," humiliating, with his voice high and frantic, yes, but he'd rather not have a mess to clean up. He pushed his pants down and gripped the base, stalling desperately as his skin flushed red.

"Jeeze, socks, I can do you one better," Eames breathed, voice rough from keeping soft, carefully avoiding his shoulder in order to roll over, following Arthur to take the head into his mouth, lapping up the already slicked skin.

And Arthur had to stifle a shout, because _fuckfuckfuck_ that was Eames' mouth on him, hot and wet, and Eames' lips around and _fuck_ he hadn't intended this. He wasn't going to ask Eames for anything, he was trying to make it up to him for every misunderstanding and misjudgment and _fuck_ , he was just making mindless noises now, pleading and chanting Eames' name and it certainly wasn't for Eames to stop. And he hoped somewhere in the string of syllables he managed a warning, because he wasn't going to last, his orgasm surging through him as he thrust up and spilled with a groan.

Eames hummed and swallowed, opening his throat and sucking along the whole length, making sure to gather every drop. Arthur turned listless, sinking back down into the mattress, shirt sticking to his skin as Eames continued. It would have been painful, oversensitized as he was, but Eames was so, so gentle and Arthur couldn't tell him to stop. He was basking in the attention, one hand absently running through Eames' hair and down along his neck as Arthur slowly recovered. "I was trying to do something for you," he said, too tired and blissed out to sound more than something between disappointed and annoyed, and a little confused. He hadn't asked for Eames to suck him off, he would have taken care of himself. No complaints. The act of getting Eames off had almost been enough actually, which was why the pink tint to his skin hadn't faded yet.

Eames let him be, kissing up Arthur's groin, pausing gently on his hip, biting, his lips replacing his hands. "And you did. Doesn't mean I can't give anything back." He pressed his head into Arthur's hand, relishing in that touch as well. "Can I use my hands yet?" he whined slightly, pushing the hem of Arthur's shirt up with his nose, skimming his lips up the skin.

Arthur frowned in confusion, tilting his head down and watching Eames leave a trail along his skin. He thought they'd be done, biological needs met, at least for the night. He had imagined doing everything in one night, but he'd considered it a lust-fueled fantasy at best, and Eames was softly kissing and nosing at him and Arthur just nodded his head, as he belatedly realized Eames had still been, technically, following the rules. Clever bastard. But Arthur hadn't quite recovered enough to argue the letter versus the spirit of the law. And Arthur found the affection, the absolutely pointless affection at this point, because Arthur would need at least fifteen minutes before he was remotely ready for anything, almost intoxicating. He relished in it, craving it, and he found he even enjoyed giving it, fingers gliding along Eames' scalp and through soft hair.

He'd never had this, slow and gentle, no hint of urgency or need. Pure indulgence. He made a soft, contented noise, this, this was nice.

Eames grinned, lips curling against Arthur's skin, palm pressing along Arthur's thigh, before Eames sat up so he could draw off his pants. While his hands pulled at the fabric, his lips skimmed from hip to knee, lifting Arthur's legs off the mattress slightly to rest on his own bent leg. "You are crazy if you thought I'd actually let you do all the work. You should know better, Arthur." He ran his fingers down Arthur's leg from knee to heel this time, cupping the heel gently to mouth at his knee again.

Arthur remained pliant only moving enough to help the oversized material slide off, but allowing Eames to do most of it. He was rendered indolent through every gentle press of lips along his thigh and hands along his calf. "What are you planning to do?" Arthur asked, some wariness starting to return, not fear, just more attention as he chased away the haze of his afterglow. "It's still my night." He'd already shown he was fine with nearly anything, fucking or getting fucked, though the latter sounded pretty good and he might order Eames to do that once both them were able. Arthur was exhausted, but now that Eames had started this Arthur found he'd very much like to continue. Eames had forfeited though, and that still deserved recognition; maybe, if Eames' idea was better, Arthur would go along. He let himself settle, enjoying Eames' attention on him.

"I did mean sucking you off, something you seemed rather surprised by. But right now? Undress you, at the very least. It's hardly fair for me to be starkers and you to be completely dressed. Otherwise, whatever you want, including just going to sleep if you're tired." Eames slid back upwards, starting to unbutton Arthur's shirt from the bottom, kissing every new inch of skin as it was exposed, quickly undoing all of them. "You can still boss me around if that's what you're worried about. Bossy pants," he teased, ducking down to kiss Arthur once more.

"You agreed -" Arthur began to protest, but it was difficult to argue with lips like that pressed against his own. He shifted, trying to shrug out of his shirt in the scant amount of space between the bed and hard line of Eames' body, but the shirt was loose and pooled behind him before he arched up and shoved it away. He broke the kiss on his way back down, already missing the contact, every inch of it. "You agreed to it," he finished, somewhat defensive, unable to help but worry that Eames hadn't enjoyed it despite the evidence to the contrary. He wasn't usually so self-conscious, but he'd thought Eames would want to be taken care of without needing to return the favor, anyone would - and Arthur realized his mistake. Putting Eames in the same category as other people, when he was clearly nothing like the people Arthur had met and slept with in the past.

"I did, I still agree." Eames grinned, letting Arthur settle back down before leaning on him, overlapping their shoulders, ducking down to renew the kiss again. "That doesn't mean I don't have ideas that I'm impatient to try. One of which is memorizing every little inch of you." He slid his hand over Arthur's chest, stroking along his jaw and neck. "Don't worry so much. It's your choice tonight and if I don't like it, I will tell you. So far, so frustratingly perfect."

"Better luck next time then," Arthur teased, assured and smiling, enjoying Eames' weight on top of him. He brought his hands up, taking hold of Eames' face and bringing him closer to nip at his upper lip. He pulled back, head resting on the edge of one of the pillows, still cradling Eames' face. "Because I want you inside me, and this time, you keep your hands on me." And he was a little anxious, Eames could reject the idea, and Arthur hadn't done it in a very, very long time and he wanted it, he already felt warmer. Christ, Eames had him feeling like a hormonal teenager, twice in a row and he almost came in his trousers, and he doubted he'd hear the end of that. He was somewhat surprised he'd managed any measurable length of time in Eames' mouth, and even the memory brought back color to his skin and caused his dick to twitch faintly against Eames.

"As you wish," Eames pressed his cheek to his shoulder, catching Arthur's hand between the two. "There might be a little maneuvering required - I can't support myself on my arms for very long, sadly." He shifted his knee, rubbing slightly against Arthur before nipping at his nose. "Do you want me to go find the condoms?"

Arthur tried to scowl, but couldn't entirely mask his smile as he tugged his hand free. He caught Eames' chin as his nose was nipped, planting a feather-light kiss there as he resisted the urge to rub against his leg. "Yeah, left everything in the pockets," he answered the most pressing matter first, while he thought over the other issue. There were a few positions that wouldn't require Eames' shoulder, but Arthur was already more alert and awake. "Do you want me to fuck you then?"

"In the pockets, tsk, Arthur, what about your planning? Which pants?" Eames teased, shifting against Arthur more purposefully, tugging his chin out of Arthur's grasp to chase his fingers with his mouth. "But we can do whatever you want, like I said," he stated again, tucking his nose into the crease between Arthur's neck and jaw.

Arthur leveled Eames with a flat look, things had spiraled and Arthur hadn't even been entirely certain they'd need them. And he was human, he overlooked things just like anyone else. "At least I brought them," he fired back, and then grudgingly, "the ones before we showered." They'd left in a hurry and Arthur hadn't had a chance to switch pockets... and then he'd forgotten. It was difficult to stay petulant - and that was what it was, nothing more than petulance - when Eames was promising him whatever he wanted and nestling in. He pressed a quick kiss to Eames' forehead, reveling in being able to, in the fact he _wanted_ to, that Eames wasn't asking anything of him. "You're the one with the injured shoulder," he pointed out. There was still a lot of appeal in having Eames do most of the work, in letting Eames dote on him, but Arthur wouldn't mind the sight of Eames laid out underneath him. He felt spoiled for choice when he usually made do.

"Well, let me narrow it down, then - ride me or fuck me, Arthur," Eames proposed into Arthur's neck.

Arthur hadn't been certain riding was an option, despite Eames' numerous claims that he was fine and that he didn't want to be treated like a fragile piece of art. Arthur couldn't help it, he worried about associations, he had enough of his own and he avoided them expertly. But Eames was obviously fine if he was suggesting Arthur take charge in that position. Still, Arthur couldn't be certain he wouldn't do something wrong, even if it were being too careful. And now that he'd been imagining it, the sight of Eames spread for him, his length twitched and he nudged at Eames to roll over. "Hands to yourself again," Arthur ordered, grinning wickedly.

"Are you fucking serious?" Eames groaned, rolling his eyes, but obeyed, moving off and half sitting up, waiting for Arthur to specify what to do next. "Fickle today, are we?"

"Do I need to add 'no talking'?" Arthur challenged, though he doubted he would hold Eames to it if he did. A part of Arthur enjoyed that Eames wanted to touch him badly enough to complain, and he intended to take advantage of what could possibly be the only opportunity he'd have.

"Well, I'm most certainly not going to listen to that one," Eames huffed.

Arthur eased himself off the bed, moving to the laundry bag he'd meant to tuck under the bed. He knelt down, pulling open the draw strings and then digging through the pockets until he had the small tube of lubricant and the pack of condoms. He returned to the bed, dropping the tube off on the nightstand before seating himself on Eames' left side and popping the lid of the box open. "Nice variety," he commented, flipping through the contents as he crossed his legs at the ankle, "Ribbed or studded do anything for you?"

"Vaguely," Eames answered. "Mostly there for diversity's sake, really, I believe some of them came from a lack of attention as to what I was taking. I have no preference if you want to use them, however."

Arthur gave a look askance, "Did you steal these?" Not that it mattered, it was more habit born from years as a federal agent than actual surprise that Eames would nick condoms. He paused as Eames admitted he had no preference _if_ Arthur wanted to use them. "If?" Arthur repeated, looking away from the assortment of condoms to Eames. Maybe he'd just meant one of those over standard condoms.

"Stole, borrowed, sometimes have them foisted on me or told yeah, in that box. If...? If you want to use the fancy ones." Eames shrugged again. "Or... if you want to use one at all?" he tacked on carefully.

Arthur drew two of the ribbed ones out, turning the the packets between his fingers as he considered. "You'd be fine with me not using a condom? You didn't even ask if I was clean," Arthur started, angry disbelief coating his words and Eames wasn't an idiot, he didn't need a lecture on safety, but he hadn't even _asked_. And maybe it was a little late, because he hadn't asked before sucking Arthur off either, and did he offer that to everyone? Was he just that lucky that he hadn't caught something? And oh, fuck, when was the last time he'd had himself checked? Eames could have something and not even know. 他妈的不负责任的白痴. Arthur wasn't sure if he was cursing himself or Eames with that one. He hunched forward and massaged his brow.

"You mentioned it. The, what was it, 300 credits? I know you're responsible enough to quadruple check and you did complain about how long it's been since your last lay at least once. And I can read an implication when I hear one, darling." A hand brushed along Arthur's curved shoulders and neck, trying to calm him down. "It's a whole 'nother ball game if you want to see my last lab report, if perhaps you were too preoccupied the first time around."

"Well, I didn't exactly hand the results to you," Arthur sniped, turning his head to glare at Eames, "What if I had something incurable? What if I was born with it?" He didn't, but the point still stood. He could have, and how would Eames know he'd been so concerned with safety at sixteen? That if there hadn't been condoms he only offered hand jobs? He swatted Eames' hands away, still too agitated and Eames pointing out his own carelessness left a bitter taste. "I didn't realize how fucking thoughtless you were when it comes to your health, I don't think I even want to know how long it's been since the last time you were tested." He also had no idea how many sexual partners Eames had had, he just assumed given Eames tendency to flirt, and his willingness to join him in bed even when they'd been strangers, that there was a decent number of them. Not to mention his self-proclaimed skills with both ladies and gentlemen. He didn't want to know that either.

"Arthur, Arthur." Eames sighed, putting his hand back in his lap. "If you had something incurable it would have come up far earlier than this. I only suggested because you suggested and I trust you would tell me otherwise. No then no, Arthur, there is a reason you brought condoms and there's none to treat me like some sort of irresponsible child. I believe you are rather overreacting. Like I said, if you want to see a lab report, that's different, I'm afraid you're going to have to wait off on that."

It would have come up earlier, at the very least before Eames put his mouth to use, as good as that felt Arthur wouldn't have dared to let him continue. And Eames evidently knew that, trusted him to act responsibly. He settled, enough to smile wryly at the witty observation. Arthur leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Eames' mouth before retreating back. "I did overreact," Arthur admitted, fingers still toying with the wrapped condoms, "I thought someone else would take advantage of that offer," and in saying it outloud Arthur realized how monumental his oversight was. Eames read people like books, he'd only extend his trust to people that deserved it. Arthur had been needlessly concerned. "You're not a child, I'm -" an asshole and an idiot, "not thinking straight."

"We're not going for straight right now," Eames quipped. "Would you like me to tell you you're special?" he continued as he slid his arm around Arthur's back again. "Because while that's true we wouldn't want that getting to your head, now would we?"

Arthur decided to take that as a joke, he wasn't special, couldn't be special this soon, but they'd already had one minor tiff, Arthur wasn't eager for another. "I think your ego is big enough for both of us," he volleyed, turning and pressing a hand on Eames' chest to force him down. He looked good on his back, and it was probably best for his shoulder. Arthur shifted, trying to get between Eames' legs while leaning down to kiss him. It was different, very different without the urgency, but Arthur liked it, liked feeling more in control of himself, the slow burn under his skin. He paused, pulling back for a moment to ask if Eames still wanted to do this, but Eames had already expressed that if Arthur did something he didn't like, he would say so. Arthur moved down to Eames neck, kissing and licking there.

"I suppose it is, guess we'll have to share," Eames laughed, twining his fingers around the back of Arthur's neck.

Arthur braced himself on elbows and knees, nudging Eames' legs apart in what he hoped wasn't too much of a stretch while his forearms kept Eames' shoulders boxed in. "I believe I said hands to yourself," Arthur stated calmly, only a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. And if Eames complained this time, Arthur would have to add something else to his demands.

Eames whined for good measure but put his arms down reluctantly. "You are a cruel lover, darling, constantly making me go against my nature."

"So win next time," Arthur whispered in his ear before moving back, resting on his knees and studying Eames, eyes lingering on each line of ink. He considered telling Eames that he had to keep his hands on the mattress, that now he couldn't even touch himself, but Arthur discarded that idea in favor of another. Arthur wouldn't touch him, not yet. "Get yourself hard, without touching yourself," Arthur glanced down Eames' torso before grinning dangerously. "Complain further if you want to see just how cruel I can be."

Eames sighed loudly and rolled his eyes anyway before noticing: "That won't be very difficult. You can bet your ass I'll win next time."

Arthur let the sigh and eye roll go unchecked - he didn't need to strip Eames of everything and he didn't want to. And watching Eames shift, pupils dilating and breath quickening, cock hardening within moments and all without even touching himself, that, that had Arthur's pulse thrumming. "Doesn't take much for you," he teased, slightly less composed as he reached over Eames for the lube. He dropped it to the side, along with one of the condoms, keeping the other and tearing it open. He rolled it down Eames' shaft, taking the opportunity to stroke over the textured pattern.

"I can use my imagination exceedingly well," Eames grinned before flexing his fingers. "The things I'd like to do to you..."

"The things I'm _going_ to do to you," Arthur taunted, already mentally promising Eames a chance at this, some other bet, but right now he had control. He reached for the other condom, rolling it on quickly before he grabbed the lubricant. He squeezed the gel on to his finger, spreading it and warming it on his skin before swirling it around Eames' entrance and slowly, gently pushing his first finger in. Tight. Warm. Arthur let out an uneven breath, forcing himself to focus on now. "You don't... do this much?"

"I'm afraid not, appearances are qu-quite determinative, especially with one night stands."

That was a waste, Arthur thought. He curved his finger, stretching Eames before slipping in a second, coaxing the ring of muscle to let it inside. He tore his gaze from that to Eames' face, carefully leaning over him as Eames arched, supporting his own weight with one hand while the other eased his fingers in and almost out. "Rest assured, I want everything you have to offer," Arthur murmured before pressing his lips to Eames' neck and adding in a third finger, measuring his pace, needing to make sure Eames was ready before pushing himself in. He panted against Eames' neck, moving down with a long swipe of his tongue. "Everything," he whispered into his chest, his fingers as deep as they could go.

"You've already got it," Eames managed, carefully bucking his hips in a quiet demand.

Arthur's breathing turned harsh, the air hot and stifling and Eames beneath him, arching with hands clenching sheets. Fucking gorgeous. Arthur lifted his head, mouthing at Eames' lips before withdrawing, fingers included, and fumbling with the lubricant. The cap snapped open and Arthur poured a clumsy amount into his hand, closing the lid later than he meant. He smoothed it over the condom, and took hold of Eames waist, lifting until he had the right angle and pressing the head inside with a sharp gasp. Fuck, still so tight, Arthur trembled, sliding in by inches, slow, careful. "Eames," he moaned, "you're so... fuck." And Arthur just wanted to thrust into him, fuck, it wasn't going to take long at all.

Arthur drew back just as slowly, making small abortive sounds as he forced himself to keep the controlled pace. Eames repeating his name breathlessly wasn't helping him on that front and neither were the legs circled around him, the way want just rolled off Eames. Arthur pushed in, a little faster, increased the pace in increments, he shifted, waiting to see if Eames could hold himself up before moving his clean hand to stroke Eames with a firm grip.

"Eames, _fuck_ ," and Arthur thrust in hard, hips loosing some of the careful rhythm, moving back only enough to gain momentum pushing forward, to get further inside. Eames was biting down on his thumb, desperation coiled in every muscle, and Arthur did that. Arthur brought him to this, to Eames panting out his name and gripping the sheets as Arthur filled him. His hand moved faster too, pumping up and down in time with the snap of his hips.

Eames moaned, forgetting to keep his voice down to a low decibel for a moment, cutting off to a pant. Arthur arched his spine, thrusting his hips as he balanced on his knees and leaned over Eames, mouthing at whatever patches of skin he could reach while still stroking. He could feel it building in the base of his spine, and he moaned into Eames skin as he pushed against Eames' prostate and _came_.

Arthur tried to hold himself up, but his arms buckled and he slumped gracelessly against Eames' chest and stomach. At least it seemed like Eames hadn't been far behind. He let himself stay a moment, Eames' was pleasantly firm and he could feel his heartbeat, as fast and wild as his own. He slipped out, going soft against the mattress. Arthur gave himself another moment, pulse closer to normal, and then pushed up on unsteady limbs, easing off the bed. He removed the condom, tying it off before burying it the the wastebasket. He moved to their makeshift sink, using one of the washcloths to gently clean his hands and groin, his back turned to Eames in a habitual effort at privacy.

Eames stayed quiet for once, surprising Arthur with a soft kiss to his shoulder, grabbing his own washcloth and dampening it in the water.

Arthur turned immediately, but then relaxed, smiling to himself, pleased even in his exhausted state. "You can touch me," he said, the closest he'd get to verbally acknowledging that he liked it. He finished washing and hung the damp rag over the side, they could wash them later. Arthur stifled a yawn as he moved back towards the bed, picking up the condom wrappers and tossing those out, relatively certain no one would be sifting through their trash. He grabbed the lubricant and the box of condoms and tucked them away in the back of the salvaged drawers of the nightstand. Then he dropped back into bed, the side he'd unconsciously deemed his so he could keep Eames safe behind him, and took up the pad, flipping the case open and quickly setting an alarm for the morning before resuming his search for information on Black Rock. He'd move on to the more important topics when he felt less drained, and when he was certain Eames wouldn't be looking over his shoulder.

Eames padded over and slid in behind Arthur. "Are you going to ever go to sleep, darling? How much activity do you need until you actually stop with the research?" Arthur could hear the eyeroll in the statement even as Eames tugged on the blanket.

Arthur shifted lazily, trying to help Eames free the blanket and eventually nestling under it. He should have gotten dressed, maybe in a minute. "I'll go to sleep," he snapped, lacking in vigor. He wasn't going to sleep just because Eames told him to, that he was certain of as he stifled another yawn. "And the research is important," he asserted and he would explain why once he had the capacity to do so. He scrolled through, rereading lines when they blurred. Now he was only being stubborn, uninterested in being told what to do.

"Right, so you keep saying and I seem to have been mistaken in trusting you. The research can wait." Eames twined his arm around Arthur's waist again, apparently unwilling to break their habit of sleeping close even with the wider bed, currently nuzzling the back of Arthur's neck.

Arthur stretched out and then settled comfortably in Eames' hold, the skin contact wasn't enough to render the positioning unfamiliar. He was relaxed enough that it took a moment to process what Eames said, and he didn't want a fight, but the implication that he'd lost some part of Eames trust stung. "Sometimes I can't sleep, that's not my fault, and I'm not going to lay here doing nothing. Don't be a fucking asshole about this." And the tension in his muscles returned as he grew incensed. He was tired and oversensitive, he'd been open and vulnerable and with his flaws being picked at he was hasty to recover his defenses and nurse the slight.

"That was a joke, Arthur," Eames placated, fingers stroking at Arthur's stomach. "No need to take it so close to home. I know you can't sleep sometimes, but if you could do me the honor of at least trying and not preemptively distracting yourself? If I read over your shoulder I'll probably stay awake as well, even though I'd quite ready to drop off right now."

Eames fingers were soothing, and Arthur calmed quickly, eyes falling shut and he struggled to reopen them. "So don't read over my shoulder," Arthur responded lethargically, completely missing Eames' point.

Eames just hummed softly into Arthur's skin instead, waiting. "Whatever you say," he mostly whispered.

Arthur tried to stay awake, but Eames was comfortable, and he was worn out and content. His eyes drifted shut and his grip on the tablet went lax, the device tipping dangerously towards his face, but held back by the folds of fabric encasing the pillow. The muted warmth and Eames' steady breathing had lulled him to sleep, despite his efforts.


	9. Chapter 9

The alarm blared and Arthur roused, mind still fogged with sleep and he reached absently for where he usually put the pad, perking up when his hand hit the surface of the table. He pushed himself up on his elbow and found it a little further over, why had he put it all the way over there? There was no way he had. Eames must have. He stretched over Eames for it, swiftly shutting the alarm off and letting silence reign once more then sat up and dropped the pad in his lap to rub sleep from his eyes.

Arthur'd slept solidly through the night for once, or at least he didn't remember waking up. He hoped it had been the same for Eames, and that he hadn't slept through Eames' distress over a nightmare. It didn't seem like it: Eames yawned and rolled over fully to his side, stretching and rubbing his jaw, grinning. "Morning, luv."

Arthur tried for disapproval at the grin, but couldn't manage it, instead smiling back, almost preening. It had been good, more than good, and he felt good, muscles pleasantly sore from the exertion and he smiled a little. If Eames was similarly sore, it would be his doing. "I tried to give us a little time," he started, but Eames was already sitting up and checking the window for the position of the sun. He'd just thought Eames would want to, talk, or something, Arthur wasn't sure. He'd stopped doing morning-afters a long time ago. But Eames had whined and complained the previous morning, and Arthur found he didn't mind adding in extra time to their morning routine, even if he was still clinging to the memory of sleep. Not tired, not exactly. Another indulgence perhaps, but he enjoyed Eames' company more and didn't mind the sacrifice.

"Mmn," was apparently the only response he was getting for the moment as Eames drew his legs up to help balance and twisted to catch Arthur's lips with his own. And Arthur was becoming fast addicted to the attention, reveling in it and how easily it was given to him. He returned it, giving lazy chase as Eames pulled away. "You're a dear. One that makes me sit funny but a dear nonetheless."

"I'd feel bad if you hadn't enjoyed it so much last night," he said with no small measure of confidence and amusement, "Still want to ride back and forth in a transport all day?"

"Cocky this morning, are we? It _has_ gone to your head," Eames teased. Arthur smirked, like the cat that got the cream, and then gave a last yawn before stretching, reaching for his toes and rolling his shoulders on the way back up. "I was actually thinking about that - perhaps we should work the scrapyard today. We'll need that windshield anyway and help getting it out and around. And it's only ten minutes away so I can be in and out for lunch. We could all be, really. There's probably more things that might be useful for the defragmenter although the sun is going to be on our backs all day."

Arthur nodded and climbed out of bed, circling it to find his clothes and dressing himself. He was glad Eames had gone with his plan, it meant he could help with the food preparation and that he wouldn't be left alone with Ariadne. Which wasn't to say he couldn't do it, just that he preferred not to deal with her. "I've got breakfast, if you want to sleep in," he offered. He was the one that used the pad after all.

"Absolutely not." Eames hopped out after Arthur, grabbing his pants off the floor as well. "I remember someone saying they couldn't cook their way out of a paper bag."

Arthur scowled. "It's just rice, and I can follow a recipe. Ass," he rejoined, even if he was only mildly affronted. He knew where his skills lay and it wasn't in preparing food, but he felt confident he could follow directions and make a decent meal. He went into his routine, brushing teeth and hair quickly once he was dressed.

"Have you ever tried?" Eames questioned around his toothbrush before spitting out his toothpaste and rinsing both the toothbrush and his mouth. "Also, I'm not really looking forward to it being bland again and I have a feeling only a small percentage of the people who have been cooking know a whit about actually making things edible. Also would you believe that rice takes practice to cook?"

Arthur turned around from where he was undoing the sips on the door, watching Eames grab a towel to wipe his face. "You stick it in a pot and boil it, how much practice do you need? And if you want some flavor add," he gestured vaguely as he realized he wasn't certain what you'd add to rice besides salt or soy sauce, "whatever to it once it's done." If he needed to he could have looked up some ideas on the Cortex, but the pad was back on the table, and he wasn't particularly concerned with how much the residents liked the rice. They were clearly used to plain.

"Cover the pot, preferably with a heavy lid. Make sure you catch it before all the water boils out and you waste the ten percent that gets stuck and or burned to the bottom of the pot. Can't say what's left over out of the spices but you can add anything from parsley to onions to pepper to garlic." Eames dug out a shirt, sliding it over his head and checking a yawn. "Just leave it to me, basically."

"Scintillating stuff, Eames," Arthur scoffed, because it was _rice_ and Eames didn't need to be a smart-ass about it. But Arthur was certainly willing to defer to him in this. Once Eames had his shirt on, Arthur lifted the flap and headed for the kitchens.

"I thought you'd like boring things, given the amount of time you spend doing research." Eames followed, stretching in the morning air. Once they got to the kitchens, Arthur fetched the pots, trying to remember the number he'd seen at breakfast and then adding another in case he'd missed one. He hadn't made it a point of interest before.

"Boring or not it needs to get done," Arthur quipped, and resisted grabbing at the list that had appeared in Eames' hand. Hopefully measurements. It would be a lot better than guessing how many people lived here and how much they would need to eat but he could leave it up to Eames. "How much water?" Arthur asked, already moving some of the pots to the sink.

"Rice first, water later. We have to wash it out anyway." Eames hoisted the burlap bag onto the table, grabbing a pot. "Just wash it out until the water runs somewhat clear, then we can actually measure the water."

Arthur tried to decide if Eames was putting him on or not. The rice was in a sealed package, and they were going to cook it, why did it need washing? Noodles didn't, beans didn't, but Arthur followed the instructions, rinsing the rice and watching the color of the water as he very carefully drained it and started over. The water did look clearer, so he held off on chewing Eames out, and he didn't believe Eames would let him waste a significant amount of time in order to prove he knew absolutely nothing about cooking. He'd made rice before without rinsing it and it had turned out fine.

"Now pour two of these into each of the pots, since you're near the sink," Eames slid yet another pot over as well as the second pot of rice.

Arthur added the water to the first pot, and since he hadn't been laughed at for actually rinsing the rice he decided that Eames had been serious about washing it and moved on to the second, pouring water over it until it ran clear.  He followed the rest of the directions and glanced over to what Eames was doing. It looked like he'd found a pan and some garlic, and either parsley or cilantro, Arthur hadn't bothered to learn the difference. "Garlic for breakfast," Arthur deadpanned, not that he wouldn't eat it. Even looking at uncooked rice had him hungry and he usually wasn't one for breakfast. He blamed Eames.

"Taste for breakfast. Like you've never head garlic in an omelet. Although chances are you haven't actually, just bananas or something, so never mind." Eames put the pan onto heat, letting it warm up before fishing out a knife so he could mince the garlic and letting the dried parsley sit out. "You can put those on heat, the lids are good enough for our purposes."

"Is there a problem with fruit? It's more nutritional value for less," Arthur defended, though he actually subsisted on coffee and a complex carbohydrate, like a whole wheat bagel. He hefted the pots on to the burners, dusting his hands of and adjusting the dials to start cooking the rice.

"That's questionable, depends on the type of nutritional value you're looking for. Won't find protein in them, that's for sure." Eames dumped the cut up garlic onto the pan, stirring it a little, watching it sizzle slightly.

Arthur gave Eames a skeptical look, and then glanced between him and the rice. "It's more convenient," he added in the defense of fruit, and then contented himself with watching Eames work, wondering what cues he used or if he'd made it so often the timing was innate.

"And now we wait," Eames said, turning down the heat under the pan, then sneaking his hand around Arthur's waist. There was no one to see them, even if they lacked the privacy of the tent, or Rook.

"How long?"

"Mm, depends on the rice but I'd give this around twenty minutes. Very inconvenient as opposed to instant gratification. But mostly why I didn't complain about not spending a fraction more time in bed."

Arthur let Eames sidle against him, noting some parts of him were slightly sensitive where Eames' fingers pressed. Bruised, probably. Eames had left his marks. Arthur smiled, faint. And then he neatly maneuvered himself out of the hold and started for the tent. "I'll be right back," he said. If they had twenty minutes he could use the opportunity to continue his research, and maybe ask Eames about Niska and other important figures. It would only take him a moment to grab the pad and return.

"Oh yeah?" Eames asked from several paces behind. "What'cha going to go get?"

"The pad," Arthur answered absently as he ducked into the tent, he didn't waste time ordering Eames not to follow him, he intended to head back to the kitchen and he'd said as much. He avoided the edge of the bed, adjusting to its presence still, and headed for the nightstand to grab the device. He wasn't sure why Eames felt the need to follow him, but he didn't concern himself over it, chocking it up to boredom or Eames being Eames.

"Really?" Eames paused in the doorway. "You have to do that now? There's not a whole lot of research you can get up to in twenty minutes- you can only read so fast after all."

Arthur held the pad, flipping open the case and sliding it open before glancing up at Eames, expecting him to move now that he had the pad in hand. "I can get more done in twenty than in none," he responded, "and I can eat and read at the same time. It's not difficult." And he had some information on defragmenters bookmarked that he may need to reference while they searched the scrapyard. He had his doubts on that, but he'd rather have it and not need it, than need it and have to head back to the tent to fetch it. He started towards the flap but Eames didn't move out of the way.

"Reading and eating at the same time is bad for your digestion." Arthur scowled, that was the most ridiculous, unfounded claim he'd heard in recent memory, and he'd been about to say as much but Eames continued. "And I can think of several less studious things that would take up the time. Now that we're already here."

Eames couldn't mean what Arthur thought he meant. "Really? Like what?" he asked, suspicion and skepticism coloring his words, because Eames couldn't be implying he was interested again, but it was difficult to imagine what else he might have meant.

"Oh, like taking advantage of this little bit of privacy, nothing major." Eames grinned, pocketing his hands and leaning slightly forward. "Call me needy but what fun is it if you get tense and look around every time I touch you?"

"What, again?" Arthur asked, they'd done it twice last night, he wasn't sure he had the stamina for a third time in so many hours, "And we were outside, where anyone could walk by," he defended. Arthur didn't do public displays of affection, and weren't they trying to keep things quiet? His thoughts looped back, "Aren't you still sore?"

Eames snorted, shaking his head minutely. "Well, you'll find out, won't you?" Eames was difficult to argue with when his lips were that soft and moving gently against his own. Arthur hesitated a moment, debating with himself between pulling away and reprimanding, or settling in and enjoying this for whatever it was. It was... nice, didn't leave him as breathless as their other encounters, but there was something, a thrum under his skin, like one glass of champagne too many.

Arthur's grip tightened on the pad reflexively as he felt Eames take it, but he relinquished it, ultimately trusting Eames to do something with it that wouldn't be damaging. He watched as it was deposited on the bed, allowing Eames to bring his hand back and trap him. Arthur brought his hands to Eames' face, one trailing down along his jaw and neck to clutch at the fabric of his shirt and the other found its way to the nape of Eames' neck as his lips parted a little wider, trying to deepen the kiss without urgency, losing himself in the sensation without drowning in it.

Eames took the invitation, murmuring encouragingly and opening his own mouth in return, sliding his tongue forward to brush against Arthur's. Arthur followed along, nearly helpless to it, the slide of Eames' hands over his body, tongue slipping inside and he hummed. He hadn't imagined comfortable would ever be a suitable description for a kiss, but that was what this was, familiar and novel, passionate and tame. Arthur wasn't sure how Eames managed to house so many seeming contradictions and remain so solid, so reliable, but it didn't matter, Arthur wouldn't want him to change.

Footsteps outside the tent had Arthur pulling away quickly, praying they wouldn't be caught by Ariadne, or Morena, anyone but them. Eames sighed but turned at a slight angle away, dropping his hands reluctantly. Ariadne almost ran into him as she ducked in, inches from hitting her head against his shoulder.

"Ah, you guys are awake. Breakfast is cooking yet there's no one around, I almost thought it was elves or something. What are you guys doing in here?"

Arthur picked up the pad and offered, "Needed this," before carefully stepping around Eames and Ariadne to slip outside. He didn't care why she was up and looking for them, and he wasn't interested in small talk when he could avoid it. He didn't need to feign politeness, and he wouldn't. He wasn't angry, not unless he dwelt on it and he'd written her off, severing the friendship and closing himself off to her.

Arthur skimmed over what he had started reading the previous night, Eames must have let the pad hibernate on its own, which wasn't a problem even if it wasn't what he would have done. But Eames was right, there wasn't much he would accomplish in twenty minutes, let alone ten. Soon enough both Ariadne and Eames joined him, already discussing the fact that they would be heading out to the scrapyard. Arthur would have to find the time later. "Do we have more tarp?" he asked at the mention of the windshield. If they wrapped it up and brought it to the trailer, it would be better than nothing. The glass was reinforced, he doubted a bumpy ride would do too much damage, but it wouldn't hurt to take precautions. Someone would probably have to make a trip with just the windshield in the cart, or stack it carefully on top of whatever steel they recovered, in which case the tarp would help prevent any scratches.

"Just what we brought from the ship," Ariadne supplied carefully. Eames sighed loudly, but leaned over the stove to check on the rice. "I'll ask Isaac if he wants to come."

"That would probably work," Eames put in.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement to both of the statements, the tarp they already had might be adequate and he was more than willing to let someone else deal with Isaac, though the man had toned down considerably. There wasn't use in ignoring Ariadne if it was about the job.

He finally looked up from the pad as people started to gather, and he heard them commenting that the food smelled appetizing. Ariadne slipped away and Eames seemed to be attracting attention, people Arthur almost recognized smiling at him and the kids perked up, looking towards their parents as though seeking permission to swarm him. "You've become popular," Arthur observed, teasing slightly.

"What can I say? I am a top notch babysitter." Eames smiled and shook his head. "And I don't sit around doing research every day."

"I'm not interested in the opinions of people I'll probably never see once we leave this planet," Arthur said, still half-amused by the conversation. He didn't want a host of temporary friends, and he didn't have the time to make them anyway. He was polite and cordial when he had to be, but no more. "At least the research is useful."

"Who said that?" Eames questioned, checking on the rice again. "There are such things such as waves, you know. And while you might not need anyone's opinion, there's no harm in getting to know people so you can ask them for a favor somewhere down the line. You can't research yourself an extra pair of hands."

"If I need help, I'd hire it. I get what I want done, and I can dictate how I want it done, and then I pay them. Interaction ceases. I don't have to rely on someone's good will, and I don't owe them anything but credits," Arthur said, shifting his weight and frowning at a particularly moronic opinion on the disappearances, that it was a star whale, capable of living in the vacuum of space. He clicked out of it and moved on to a different site. "And I doubt we'd stay in touch, people generally don't." At least in his experience. He couldn't say he was bothered, when he had time, he'd rather spend it quietly than try to emotionally invest himself in someone else' life. There were people he kept tabs on, but he didn't wave them, letting them get on with their lives.  

"And what sort of crew will you hire now that you're on an Alliance watch list?" Eames asked lightly, shaking his head. "I find people who I know to be far more trustworthy than someone I hire for money. After all, it'll only take more money to get them away from your side." He lifted the lid of one of the pots, emptying half of the garlic and parsley into it before pouring the rest into the other pot. "Then again, with your penchant for resources and the amount of resources you had, if you wanted to check up on someone you only needed to stalk them via the Cortex, eh?"

Arthur scowled, bitter at the reminder that he didn't have that life anymore. That he couldn't afford so much as a coffee, let alone a ship and a crew with his assets frozen. The help he'd need now was very different, it was no longer for things he simply did not want to do, it was no longer telling subordinates to run backgrounds and set up stake outs. And he tried not to be upset with Eames for prodding at the sensitive topic, it wasn't Eames fault and he wasn't bringing it up to deliberately rile him, but it still sat uncomfortably. "At least money is all they want from you," he said, helping Eames carry both pots to the serving area, "and at least you know why they left." He withdrew, falling quiet because Eames didn't deserve to be lashed at for an honest remark and a valid point. It was Arthur's problem, and he grew agitated for being so bothered by it.

Eames left him to his thoughts, returning only with a full bowl of rice. "Well, that's what we'll have to figure out, won't we?" he stated, handing Arthur a bowl. "Now let's go sit."

Eames _would_ cut in line, but they had cooked it, so Arthur took the bowl without fuss and walked past the queue of people that seemed unbothered by Eames' disregard for order. He found their table and took a seat, tucking in before consciously trying to slow himself, his stomach whining in protest. "I've been looking into it," he admitted, more to the bowl of rice than Eames. He'd said as much once before, when Eames had been half-asleep, and he'd tried to pretend it wasn't an issue, that it didn't affect him much. "I know it came from the Director," and he wasn't sure how much Eames knew about the bureau, so he elaborate, "he's in charge of essentially everything and I've only met him twice. I don't know why he'd want me gone, dead." he corrected, because Bai could have forced him to resign, which Arthur supposed he'd refuse and cause a fuss.

"Well I can't imagine you can fathom why someone you barely know would do anything at all. I have a feeling it's more of a backstage drama, anyway, where there's a lot of money involved." Eames paused for a second to eat his rice. "Wait, so you're a federal agent? Not a detective - Arthur, I believe I need to inform you that you really work far too much and quite over what your station requires. It was just a robbery, not even interplanetary, and a flimsy lead, absolutely nothing any underlings couldn't have handled. Well, in theory."

"Department head, actually. And that would be true had the same hospital not been government funded and robbed two months prior. I thought there might have been a connection at first, but it seemed like a small group, and they didn't avoid the cameras particularly well. " He swallowed some of the rice, noting it had a less gummy texture than instant rice, and the garlic and parsley weren't too much for the first meal of the day, "Not to mention, the medication stolen was different, there was a witness, and unauthorized use of hospital equipment, whoever they were, they performed a neural scan in the middle of their theft. I pulled the data for evidence, but the file was later deleted and I haven't been able to recover it. I made an official request for the data cache on the off chance your robbery and theirs _were_ connected, but then I was sent to Persephone..." He paused, pieces slotting into place, but he was left wondering what a copy of a brain scan could contain that it might cost him his life.

"I still hold that it was way too much work. And let it be known that they were in fact connected and sometimes I don't always have completely original ideas, although I obviously had to modify it quite a bit to pull it off by myself. Safe to say that's the only way they were connected, it's a pity they had the one witness. I know for a fact they restock almost instantly with no one the wiser - which is what makes it such a fool proof plan. There's a whole moon full of medicine just a shuttle ride away. No one would have noticed. Can't tell you what the brain scan was about - everyone seemed top of health when I saw them last and with a new doctor on board."

"You know who they were?" Arthur asked, taken aback though he supposed it hardly mattered now, unless Eames still kept in contact with them and they'd be willing to sate Arthur's curiosity. "And yeah, the doctor they knocked unconscious, he was the _real_ problem." He shook his head and finished his bowl of rice, scraping at the few grains left and absently longing for a second helping.

"Yeah, I do, same guys who airlifted Badger to the desert that one time. Fun bunch." Eames finished his rice. "But what can I say, no novel job goes undeterred by unexpected obstacles. But didn't the feds show up on them? Shouldn't that have been in the records? I'm surprised they got out, unless someone was exaggerating the size of the chopper that showed up."

Arthur shook his head, nonplussed, "No, I didn't find out about the theft until the witness called it in. Seems like someone was exaggerating more than a chopper. I thought you could tell when someone was lying," he quipped. Whoever it was must have been good to convince Eames they had escaped federal agents that were never there. Because there couldn't have been, like Eames said there would have been a report, and a briefing with whoever had been first on scene. Arthur hadn't heard anything... "They may have seen a drill, there was a helicopter logged for practice." Wasn't from Arthur's division though, and he was only half-sure the date was the same.

"Well it was a couple of months ago and the whole story was rather unbelievable - except for how it obviously wasn't - but I can't exactly imagine needing to add on a detail like that. They had to go back for their doc under the noses of a bunch of feds, should the story hold true, although they do vanish somehow by the end. Probably was a drill, would have figured." Eames shrugged, spinning his bowl with his chopsticks. "Well, that's not the important part anyway." A pause. "What _is_ the important part, by the way? The brain scan? That's outlandish."

"Why did your friends take the time to do a neural scan in the middle of the theft?" Arthur shot back, "How was the data lost? I don't know what's important about it, but clearly there's something. Unless you have another theory?" He stacked his bowl in Eames and slid the metal bowls to himself to stop the noise of Eames' spinning it with his chopsticks. They'd probably need to head out in short order, but Ariadne was still eating a few tables over and she had the keys.

Eames pouted as Arthur took the bowl out of his reach but tossed the chopsticks in with the rest of it. "Beats me. Best we can do is ask I suppose. And hey, look at that, the fact that I have friends comes in handy, isn't that a happy coincidence?" he joked and continued talking, but Arthur's attention had shifted to the sky. A bright light- a ship coming through the atmosphere on the horizon. Dark plumes of exhaust billowed out before what must have been a ship hurtling towards the ground as the hull grew brighter and brighter, the clouds of smoke no longer visible until it burst apart raining flames and wreckage.

"That's not good, did they blow out their containment in the effort to stop?" Arthur heard Eames say and his mouth parted as he rose to a stand, something was still falling, an escape shuttle, a second ship, Arthur couldn't be sure of anything from this distance, it hit the tree line, disappearing from view. Only a matter of seconds and the ground quaked beneath his feet and Arthur gripped the table reflexively.

All at once people were clamoring, whispering to one another in a blend of concern and excitement, hoping there were survivors, hoping for more food. Ariadne moved towards them. "We have to check it out," she said, "you guys can stay here."

"Well, if you put it like that of course we're going to come," Eames said immediately. "That's not too far away, we should be back before lunch. A fresh crash is a better chance for working parts, isn't it?" He stood as well, looking out in that direction although there was little to see behind the trees.

Arthur doubted Morena would be that bothered if Eames missed lunch given the circumstances, and unless there was someone else that knew how to remove a defragmenter safely, Arthur could use the help. And if Eames' father was a mechanic, Eames stood a better chance than Arthur at finding the part. Arthur would still bring the pad, he could probably find the schematics if Eames didn't recognize the ship.

Ariadne glanced between them, seeming to debate with herself, before, "Alright, I'll grab the guns, Rob and Torrance will grab the cutters, see if you can get a med supplies from Yusuf," she waited until Arthur nodded and then took off. She didn't seem to hopeful about survivors and Arthur couldn't say he was either. Not coming in like that.

Arthur left the table and headed for Yusuf's home, assuming Eames wouldn't be far behind.

"That's the spirit." Eames detoured shortly to the kitchens to drop off their bowls, jogging to catch up with Arthur. "Well this promises to be exciting. Morbidly so perhaps but better than repetitive facing."

Morbid was right, Arthur would disagree on better than facing until they determined what was salvageable. He didn't voice his opinion, however, remaining quiet as Eames knocked on Yusuf's door and they waited for him to answer. Yusuf opened the door with a plate in hand. "Heard there was a crash. The med supplies are in that box there, if you need to get them, my hands are kind of full."

Arthur slipped inside and took it upon himself to grab the container, nodding to Yusuf as he exited and headed for the transport.

"Think the part that managed to land was an escape shuttle?" he asked, doubting Eames would have much more insight than he did, but still interested in a second opinion. If it was the likelihood of survivors was perhaps a little higher, but not by much.

"Looked more like a bulky piece separated for some reason. Escape shuttles don't typically point the same direction as the ship is going, for obvious reasons. But it was hard to tell, lots of smoke and distance."

Arthur hummed, considering, it could have been an oddly shaped piece of the ship, which made a defragmenter that much more unlikely if only parts and pieces of the ship survived. He deposited the supplies in with the other equipment before Ariadne handed him a pistol; he ensured the safety was on and tucked it in his waistband for lack of proper holster.

He climbed into the front seat with Ariadne and she gave a hand signal to Torrance or Rob as the radio squawked, " _Testing_ , _testing,_ " the voice warped and tinny.

"We read you. Moving out." Ariadne answered and started the transport, the other not far behind.

"How far away can those reach before the waves inevitably get pulled down into the ground?" Eames questioned.

"About ten kilometers, then it starts to break up, at least if we're out in the open. We haven't tested the range in a forest or anything," Ariadne answered, her eyes focused on the trees that were around, driving carefully and no doubt making note of the surroundings to help find their way out again.

"Mm, that's unfortunate." Arthur tensed at the gentle brush of knuckles as Eames propped his arms up on the backs of the front seats, and his eyes darted to the corners to catch sight of Eames, leaning forward. But the touch was gone as suddenly as it had been given. Arthur now missed it, and leaned back in the seat, just in case Eames decided to do it again as Ariadne's attention was almost entirely on driving.

Arthur was content to let Eames touch the back of his neck, to stroke each of the ridges with his thumb, until he noticed the transport behind seemed to fall behind and then catch up, and curiosity forced him to turn his head as it slowed again. He shifted his attention to Ariadne, ready to ask whether that was normal, or if their transport was having difficulty, but she must have known it looked strange.

"We're getting pretty far into the woods now, once we get this far, we try to leave a trail. Just in case." Ariadne explained.

Arthur settled again, still keeping tabs on trees that were unusually gnarled and anything else that could be used to indicate where they'd been and how to get back. There was enough sunlight visible through the trees he had a sense of where the sun rose and fell, enough that he didn't fear becoming endlessly lost in the black.

They were drawing closer to it now, the shape and size of it becoming clearer even between the trees, too large to be an escape shuttle, but it still looked like a ship, not just a piece of debris.

As they neared, Eames stood, trying to get a better picture of it than just a glowing point in the sky. They seemed to be coming upon the piece that had separated, one that was resolving itself into a ship - not an escape pod, nor a piece of the bigger mass that had crashed within several yards behind it, now nothing but a gargantuan smoking mess. It was very well preserved, thanks to it probably coasting to a stop using the bigger ship's explosion, the red paint on its crippled wings barely scratched.

"You know, I think we should probably turn around now," Eames said, the leather of the seat squeaking under his hands. "And frankly, there aren't going to be any survivors nor any supplies and if there are any, they aren't anything we'll need or want to save."

Ariadne applied the brakes and set in park while Arthur gave Eames a skeptical look as he hoisted himself out and studied the ship. It looked like an older ship, judging by the outdated design, but it could have been the preference of whoever owned it. The paint was tasteless, but Arthur didn't see anything wrong with it, other than its owner wanted to be perceived as someone dangerous and unhinged. "Problem?" he asked, waiting by the transport for Eames to answer while the second pulled to stop.

Eames looked around, hesitating again. "Yeah, a little bit of a problem. This - the ship that crashed and this one as well - all of it, it's a Reaver ship. That red paint. Look at those chains. I'd say if you look hard enough, somewhere around here there'll be a drudge of skeletons stuck in the trees from where it was thrown out by the fall. There is really and truly nothing to see here. I hope to God everyone aboard that vessel and if there was anyone inside the smaller one has died."

Arthur couldn't have hidden the skepticism from his face if he'd thought to try. "Reavers? Save it for the campfire." He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, already moving to help Rob and Torrance with some of the equipment. There was already a hole in the hull, the paneling peeling away, Arthur thought if they used the cutter they could enlarge it and have someone open the doors from the inside.

Torrance started to laugh, "Do you remember the vid? Who was in it, Lars something, man, that one gave me nightmares when I was a kid."

"I remember that one," Ariadne chimed in, moving to help Rob, "the lighting was so bad, you couldn't even see what was going on for half of it."

"Har, har, you're all fucking hilarious," Eames said even as they started up on widening the gap but didn't offer any protest nor any help.

The sheet of metal whined and thudded to the ground as Torrance stepped out of the way. It was too dark to see inside, and Arthur called for a flashlight, which Ariadne handed to him and headed back to the transport for a second one. He spared another glance towards Eames and found the man was genuinely spooked. Arthur would have to keep him out of the ship until he'd done a sweep, otherwise Eames was likely to shoot any poor bastard that managed to survive the crash.

The stench hit him first as he climbed inside, too overwhelmingly fetid to accurately recognize and he shined the flashlight ahead and to his immediate sides. The same reddish brown was smeared across the walls and he frowned in disgust, carefully heading for the console at the bow while trying to not breath deeply. He hoped there was enough power to turn on the lights and open the doors, he didn't want to spend more time in the poor ventilation than he had to.

Arthur stepped lightly, over bodies he assumed had been killed on impact, or during the descent. He didn't let himself dwell on it as he reached the console and held the flashlight near his face, trying to allow enough light to read the screens. The engine was off, but the power was fine. He flicked on the generator, and therefore life support which would hopefully clear out the air as well as shed light. He lowered the gang plank as well, before switching off the flashlight and turning to head for the engine room.

A chain rattled, and his head swiveled immediately in that direction as the lights finally hummed to life. And it was a chain, just dangling, he followed it up and up toward the ceiling and his stomach dropped. Bodies, coiled and speared through and pinioned together in a massive collection of carved limbs. Their clothes as tattered as their skin. He forced himself to look down and away, panting shakily, and a piece of intestine fell, smacking wetly against the ground.

Another chain rattled, and Arthur couldn't slow his heart any. Couldn't move. Couldn't look at the bodies without seeing Dom's skin peeled off and tissue cut down to the bone, pinned back together with nails. Couldn't stop the memory of Mal deliberately slicing through flesh and letting the entails spill out, smiling with eyes too bright. There was a snuffling sound, but more of the intestines fell, slopping against the metal. He struggled just to breathe.

She's here. This had to be her. Footsteps that Arthur didn't register pounded against the ground, and then he was slammed into the wall by a solid weight. Hands, two, four, on him, and he was pulled and shoved to the ground. He was going to die, he knew it, and the thought circled round and around. He was going to die. He was going to die. _Hewasgoingtodie_.

There were gunshots and shouting - Eames was near but Arthur couldn't hear him, couldn't hear anything, staring blankly into nothing as his chest expanded and collapsed rapidly, perspiration clinging to every inch of skin as tremors wracked his body. Didn't hear Ariadne calling out their names, nor her footsteps as she headed towards them. Didn't hear Rob and Torrance just behind.

Clean air sent him coughing as Arthur tried to inhale too much of it, too quickly, and he could see that it was brighter. Off the ship? Hands again and Arthur jerked back violently before he realized the hands belonged to someone he knew, to Eames. He tried to sit up, catching sight of his shirt spattered with blood and slumping. "Is that mine?" he asked, the words slow to form and his tone unconcerned. That was a lot of blood, and it was... spray, it wasn't soaking through. If it was his, how did it end up like that? His eyes slowly tracked up to look at Eames' face, also smeared with red, like he'd fallen. "Are we alright?"

"No, it isn't yours, darling. Nor mine, we're fine." Eames dodged a glance over his shoulder as Arthur finally struggled upright. "You might have gone into a bit of psychological shock, just coming to, now."

Arthur nodded in understanding. An image flashed behind his eyelids, men and women strung up, insides spilling out, staring at him with empty sockets. He twisted away from Eames to heave breakfast into the grass, and distantly someone else was doing the same.

 _Reavers_. He should have listened to Eames. He should have known Eames wouldn't have been so visibly bothered by something out of stories. Arthur pushed himself to stand. "How many of them are in there?" he asked, drawing the gun from his waistband, hand shaking. The engine hadn't been on, if there was a surviving defragmenter to be found it was going to be on that ship. He wasn't going to sit out here scared. He was better than that. Eames had seen him fall apart so many times now that Arthur found himself disgusting. Reavers were real. Reavers could be killed. "What else do you know about them?" If there were more, they'd lost the element of surprise, and there was light now. He could do this. Arthur knew he could do this. Get in, get the part, get out, prove that he wasn't fucking useless. He wasn't some fucking coward.

"I don't know, I wasn't exactly counting." Eames stood as well and Arthur glared the moment he noticed Eames was deliberately stepping in his way and herding him from the ship but he didn't try to walk around him. "Now I know you want to go back in there, Lord knows why, but given I'm the only one not currently parting ways with my breakfast, I say that you need to take five and breathe. You can go back in, I'm not going to stop you, but maybe take a little bit to stop shaking first. I don't know anything about them after a crash - besides the fact that they are crazed and if any are still alive, debilitating injuries are not going to stop them from trying to get at you. Nor are they going to be going in for the kill which is perhaps why you're still alive, with no small thanks to Ariadne, either."

"The part, Eames, the whole fucking reason we're on this 一块狗屎 planet," and he had no call to react like that, shouting in Eames' face as though he were an idiot, Arthur knew he wasn't. And shit. He was shaking, he flipped the safety back on and let the hand Eames had placed on his shoulder remain. It steadied him. Eames was right, though he shouldn't go in like this. He shouldn't charge in blindly, still panicked and harried.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he agreed, softer, apology and resignation in his voice. He looked over at Ariadne, knelt down and rubbing at Rob's back. Those gunshots must have been her; even after how coldly he'd treated her, she'd still gone in, risking her life, and not out of duty or training. She was still a civilian, not a soldier.

Arthur let out a shaky breath, his gaze back on Eames. "I meant everything you know about them, are they men, men that saw the," and he almost felt ridiculous just saying it, but after what he'd seen, that Reavers were real, "edge of space?" He tried not to think about how close he'd come to dying, that he'd just given up, unable to fight back. Ice raced up his spine, clogged his veins. "Is that how you become one?" he asked, breathless and hardly there. Arthur cleared his throat, fighting back the fear and dread prickling under his skin. Was that what happened to Mal and Dom? Had they seen something out there in the black, had they seen _nothing_ and been consumed by it? His gaze slid from Eames to the ship. To paint that wasn't paint. His knee buckled.

"I don't exactly interview them for a living. I don't know. That is how the story goes though. But-" Eames cut off and braced Arthur's shoulders with both hands, taking some of Arthur's weight onto his chest. "That ship, with your friends, it was attacked. Attacked and then left as bait, I'm assuming. And I suppose... I suppose they leave survivors. I don't know why or if that's a part of the trap but it's been many years since Reavers first started appearing... I don't know."

Arthur forced himself to ignore the agony in his knee, it wasn't real, and he laughed bitterly because he didn't know how else to react. He gently pushed Eames' hands away and headed for the transport. Willing his knee to work properly, because he was _fine_ , _damn it_ , and he didn't need help. That whole scene, the Reavers, or what he saw of them, looked so familiar. He'd seen the same in the photos he looked over at night, Dom's painful, twisted suicide, the image of Mal burned into his retinas... Arthur didn't make it to the transport, eyes fixated on the grass.

"What if, I'm not- what if it's, if I'm...? Eames, I killed a man without even thinking, how do you know I'm not going to do the same to you?" What do they know about how Reavers become Reavers? What if it was virus, what if it was laying dormant, what if he'd become infected now? He was covered in Reaver blood. He could still feel grimy hands around his waist as he was shoved to the floor - he dry heaved, nothing coming up.

"Well you certainly didn't cut him up and make his skin into your clothes. I've killed people, you've killed people, Ariadne just shot two human like things without thinking twice about it. Did you enjoy it? I'd have to say you didn't and neither did I nor she should you ask her." Eames took Arthur's shoulders again. No, Arthur hadn't enjoyed it, he'd put the man down as quickly as he could when he saw him reaching for a weapon. Arthur hadn't wanted to go anywhere near the body. He settled, sinking against Eames, trusting him where he couldn't trust himself.

"No one... No one who's ever fought Reavers, escaped and lived to tell about it, has ever become one of them. Not after the fact." Eames slid his hands down Arthur's arms."I wouldn't condone rolling around in there but there shouldn't be anything in that blood there isn't a vaccine or cure for."

The corner of his lips ticked up at the ridiculous thought of anyone wanting to roll around in that filth, and a part of him thought that things would be fine, if Eames was back to making comments like that.

"Can you swear to me that you'll kill me if you think I'm a danger," he asked, voice low. He needed to know, if they couldn't be sure he wouldn't become something like that, he needed to know that Eames would kill him rather than let himself be killed. Arthur wouldn't be able to stay with him if there was even a chance he would turn out like Mal. If Eames would let himself be carved out.

"I-If that's what you would want," Eames tripped over the words, looking downwards. "But I can't promise to enjoy it or not try everything possible to help you first. And don't think that way in the first place. Nothing will happen to you, I'm certain of it. Please, don't be scared."

"It's not fear Eames, I'm being practical. I'm not asking you to enjoy it, I just need to know you'll do it. Shoot me before I hurt anyone. You just said death is mercy." If he could get Eames to agree with the plan, it might make it easier if the time ever came. "It's just a contingency, you - you'd want me to do the same, right?" But the thought of Eames smiling at him as he sliced him open almost had him choking. He hadn't been able to shoot Mal, he'd frozen, unable to believe it was her, unable to stop it even with the gun pointed straight at her.

"I don't plan on falling into such a situation in the first place. I trust you would do what you would think was right, although I think you know what I would feel. I have agreed, if that was what you wanted, now, please, please stop thinking about it." Eames pressed his palms to the sides of Arthur's neck, thumbs stroking gently at his jaw. "It's not going to happen. And I need you together so we can go get that part, alright?"

Arthur exhaled, he'd stopped shaking and only settled further with Eames' hands on his neck, the touch light and safe, because Eames was safe. "I should have believed you," he admitted, silently vowing not to make the same mistake again. He would pull himself together and prove that Eames could rely on him too.

"Please, I wouldn't have believed me either. It's just a crashed ship with a shoddy paint job."

Arthur wrapped his hands on Eames' wrists, holding tightly for a moment before tugging them away. "I think I'm going to go with you," Ariadne said as soon as they started towards the ship again, straightening from where Rob was still sitting on the ground. Then, when Eames looked like he was going to protest: "I can handle a gun just fine, thanks, you know that. I'm coming. It's safer that way."

Arthur couldn't argue either, three pairs of eyes were better than two, and she'd proven she could handle herself in there. He nodded as he flipped the safety off, heading for the entrance of the ship and staring inside, heart already in his throat. He was fine, he could handle it, he'd walked into danger before. He moved up the ramp, gun trained ahead and listening for any movement that wasn't Eames or Ariadne. The rank smell still hung heavy in the air, but not as oppressive, the sight of the walls not as jarring now that he knew what to expect.

The engines were toward the aft section, close to the lowered gang plank, he hoped that meant they could get in and out quickly.

The other two agreed to stay guard fairly easily, which came as little surprise. When they got there, the engine room was far cleaner, only one light streak of blood dragging across the floor. It was better than the pool in the control room.

Arthur tucked his weapon away, and devoted nearly all of his attention to the task of retrieving the defragmenter, leaving Ariadne to watch the entryway. He stepped in neatly to the detach the wires on the other side of where Eames had already set up, the act of salvaging parts a familiar one and he severed the connection to the engine on his side swiftly. "Ready?" he asked, not daring to lift the part before Eames was finished with the more difficult and delicate wiring.

"Gah, yeah, give me two seconds." Eames dropped his right arm, shaking his shoulder out a little, using his left to finish disconnecting the wiring. "You can take it," he allowed, moving his hand to rub his shoulder this time. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to be a little bit useless for a spell."

Arthur carefully lifted it, watching Eames with grave concern. "Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded. They could have taken someone else.

"You know what, there was this bit with the Reavers and the the shock and the blood everywhere and somehow it just slipped my mind."

Arthur kept moving, he didn't want to spend another second inside the ship and they could discuss it later, in safety - except they couldn't just leave a group of Reavers out here. What if they found the settlement? Ariadne led them back out, the only one with an already drawn weapon.

As he didn't want to go back inside... "We need to make sure they're all dead," he said. e could check on Eames' shoulder later, or Yusuf could. It had been silent in there and clearly none of the Reavers had left the ship, chances were good that the crash had killed off most of them, but they needed to be certain. He drew his gun, already charting a grid by grid search pattern. It would mean searching through the entire ship, and Arthur doubted it would be much better than the control room in the other areas, but he didn't see any other choice given their resources.

"Burn it?" Eames volunteered. "I don't think we have enough bullets for the potential amount of bodies and you'd shoot every one of them unless someone wants to volunteer to be checking for pulses? Or just seal off all exits, just because they're crazed doesn't mean broken bones heal any faster than on normal folk."

"Yeah, burn it and the entire gorram forest, and we cut a huge hole in the ship, in case you missed it, or do you think we should give the goddamn things a chance to escape as we drive back to get the welding equipment, great fucking idea, Eames," Arthur said, the agitation descending on him suddenly and he tried to calm down, because again, there was no call for it, because he knew Eames was right too. There weren't enough bullets, and asking anyone to check the pulses seemed cruel at best and dangerous at worst. "I'll check the bodies," he decided. It was the better option in his mind. He was already going to have nightmares, why not ensure he got the details right.

"Uh, no, you aren't. If anything, the one with the trauma needs to stay as far away from the dead things as possible, in case you relapse. Not that that will ever happen apparently. Actually, here's a plan, check the rest of the ship, lock all the doors, including but not limited to sawing off the inside locking mechanisms, put bullets into the ones that aren't in the rooms we can secure. That way, there'll be no touching, no burning and there's no way they can get through deadlocked doors unless they have the tools for it, which we will make sure they don't."

Arthur thought it over, forcing himself to ignore the comments on relapsing and focusing on the latter half of what Eames had outlined. It made sense, and Arthur nodded while Torrance and Rob looked uneasy.

"We've got to," Ariadne spoke up, "we can't just leave these things alive. What if they made it to the village, even if it takes them days - we can't risk it." That, at least, seemed to strengthen their resolve.

"We should get a layout of the ship," Arthur said, moving back to the transport for the pad. "Anyone know the model?"

"Carla class, Mark 3." Eames sighed.

Arthur was already on the pad as soon as the words left Eames' mouth. It was an older ship, but one with readily available blueprints. He walked back to the group, only half invested in the discussion as he tried to chart out the most efficient method to lock up each of the rooms. "If we split into two groups, one can take the right and these rooms," he turned the pad and pointed to the rooms he meant, "the other will take the left and these rooms. We meet at the console, and shut down the power so the doors can't be unlocked. Then we head out through the hole," he looked to Eames for his opinion, since so far his own plans had been shit. He'd almost gotten, not only himself, but Eames and Ariadne killed. His faith in himself was shaken, and he didn't trust his own judgement. Not completely.

"That's fine," Eames nodded. "Off we go then, who's going which way?"

"You're standing outside," Arthur decided, no doubts on that one. Eames' shoulder was a liability, Arthur stubbornly ignored the problem with his own knee, and they should have someone to keep an eye on the exits. The Reavers hadn't made any attempts to leave their ship, either because they couldn't or wouldn't Arthur had no idea, but he wasn't going to take risks. He looked to Rob and Torrance, they both looked a little unsteady, and then he looked to Ariadne, fear in her eyes as well, but more determination than he saw in the others. And she handled herself well inside the ship. "Ariadne and Torrance, Rob and I," he suggested, "and how many radios do we have?"

"Like hell I'm standing outside," Eames interjected as Ariadne said "Two" at the same time. "If this is about my shoulder, I highly doubt I can be really counted on as back up if things do end up getting hairy. And it's not like it can possibly get any worse, honestly." Eames huffed, crossing his arms before immediately wincing, putting them back down. "You gotta have someone reliable for back up, don't you? Rob, you're reliable, aren't you?" Rob nodded immediately while Torrance looked disappointed.

Arthur gave Rob a look of unadulterated disgust, but the man wasn't nearly as cowed by the expression as Arthur would have hoped. He certainly didn't re-volunteer himself, and Arthur wouldn't be able to rely on someone so resistant to being there. "Fine," he agreed. Eames only needed one hand to fire a gun, and they were traveling in pairs anyway. Arthur wondered if he should change the grouping, send Eames with Ariadne in case he, even the thought sat bitter, panicked. He bought himself some time to think as he fetched the radios from the transport, handing one to Ariadne and trying to decide if he should leave the other with Rob or carry it with him inside. Considering the Reavers' current unwillingness or inability to leave their ship, he settled on keeping the radio. "Eames, you should go with Ariadne." He said.

"Fine by me. On the condition that you radio in if anything goes wrong. And if anyone does need back up, the screaming and yelling will almost certainly carry. Actually, why don't I take Torrence and you and Ariadne go together? I'm not exactly useful for any feats of strengths right at this moment."

Eames may have had a point. If one of the doors was stuck or blocked he and Ariadne could run into problems. And Arthur didn't want to waste time deliberating over who went with who, so he simply agreed to arrangement and handed his radio to Torrence, who could use both arms and would have an easier time handling both it and a gun. Arthur tried to mentally steel himself as he started walking towards the gang plank. "Ariadne and I will take the right, you two head left."

"Knew you'd see reason." Eames followed close behind, ducking in to the ship after Arthur. It was eerie in the fluorescent light, unremarkable and so doubly terrifying. Still, it was better than heading through the console room, he wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing that in stark contrast, either.

They moved from room to room quietly, locking them down even if they were empty and searching for Reavers in between. Ariadne was watching him with mild worry but Arthur disregarded it, focusing on the task at hand. There was only one room that required them to move aside debris, and they dealt with it with relative ease.

Ariadne found one Reaver and put a bullet in it although it was probably already dead. They were heading to the console room when Arthur found the second, also unmoving but the picture of grotesqueness in the stark lighting. He shot it once, then again and then over and over as it didn't move and soon enough the clip was empty but he kept pressing the trigger, trying to erase it out of existence.

Arthur didn't hear their footsteps as they drew nearer and he didn't hear Eames calling his name. And all he saw was the thing in front of him, its face cut up and teeth filled into points, staring up at him with an open maw. Or it had been until he'd riddled the face with holes, but he didn't see the bloody pulp it had been reduced to. He startled at the touch, clenching the gun tightly, but then he recognized the hands. _Eames_. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the Reaver on the floor to Eames. His throat caught and he couldn't speak, just stare miserably.

"Come now, lean on me..." Eames said after a nod at something Ariadne said, sliding the gun out of Arthur's fingers gently. Arthur offered less and less resistance as Eames pulled, he looked down at it and then up to Eames, silently wondering why it was being taken. But he trusted Eames, even if it was difficult to make sense of what was going on. He went with Eames, dragging his leg rather than attempt to put any weight on it. He followed Eames' coaxing until the air changed and he looked around cautiously.

Rob found them, nervously asking after something as Eames soothed his worries and continued to help Arthur walk forward. Just the couple more steps to the transport and Eames leaned back on the hood of it, carefully taking Arthur into a hug. Arthur slumped into the hold, resting his weight on Eames and the transport. He felt nothing, his sight unfocused and his mind clouded. It didn't matter if he were safe or not, but he stayed quiet, listening more to the tone of Eames' voice than whatever words he was saying. Arthur wasn't sure how much time had passed, but Ariadne was back, her eyes soft and concerned.

"Should we... stay and give him a minute, or should we take him back like this? Eames," she pleaded, "tell me he's going to be okay."

"I can't say... It's already been a minute I'm afraid and staying here isn't benefiting anyone." Arthur went as Eames lifted him, slinging his arm around his shoulder again, then next thing he knew he was in the back seat of the transport.

Arthur came back to himself in increments, to wind in his face and Eames hands on him. And soon on the heels of that was his disgust with himself and he moved away, withdrawing, but this time more deliberately. This time not wanting any more contact, despite the cold that gripped him down to his bones. He moved to the opposite side of the backseat, trying to create physical distance as though it might help with mental distance as well. Cutting Eames out before the man could do the same to him, because there was no way Eames would want anything to do with him now and Arthur would be damned before he let himself get hurt.

And maybe Eames wouldn't do it now, he probably would wait until Arthur seemed more able to process it, he didn't think Eames cruel, but it would happen. Arthur could barely stand himself, how he expect Eames to? How could he expect Eames to want to stay in this knowing just how fragile he was? Arthur threw up his walls, trying to build specific ones that would keep Eames out. Because if Arthur locked him out now he wouldn't be hurt later.

" _Arthur_." Eames moved as well, following, if keeping a scant inch away. "What is it _now_ , darling? Please tell me, I'm here to help."

The transport slowed as Ariadne turned around for a split second, before turning the other way to get a better look. "Is he alright? Is he back now?"

"I'm fine," and he barely restrained himself from snapping. It wasn't so much Ariadne's concern as the fact it was warranted. That he couldn't seem to get over this hurdle, and he'd backslid before, and a part him knew most of his agitation stemmed from it. He could read a list of symptoms and signs, but regardless, the anger and frustration was there. And so was the need to hide, cover himself. To remind everyone he wasn't vulnerable. To remind himself.

But he kept falling, and falling, and he hadn't even had his feet under him before he was falling again. Everything was so out of control. And there he was, letting Eames coddle him over something that happened seven fucking years ago. Eames didn't want that, someone who jumped at each shadow. He'd said that much back on Rook. Arthur wasn't going to be left behind though, not when he saw it coming. "I'm fine, I don't need you," he said, turning briefly to face Eames, and then straight ahead.

"That's nice but I'm here so I'm afraid you're going to have to deal with it. Now tell me, what's wrong? If you're trying to make up for relapsing I can assure you that it's not necessary."

Arthur seethed at being caught out, at the fact Eames always seemed to know exactly what Arthur was doing, even before he realized. He grit his teeth stubbornly, resenting Eames' ability to take everything in stride, and turned his head further away without saying a word. He didn't want to talk about this, period, let alone with Ariadne in the front seat. "I already told you, I'm fine," he spat, just so he couldn't be accused of ignoring Eames. "Back off."

Eames sighed but did what he was told, settling into his seat. The remainder of the drive was silent, and Arthur could see from the rearview mirror that Ariadne was casting him concerned glances, but even she remained quiet. Arthur used the time to collect himself, to compartmentalize the hurts and bury them, retreating within himself. Ariadne had barely stopped the transport before Arthur launched himself out of it, pad and defragmenter already in hand. He hastened towards their tent, eager for a change of clothes and a shower. He ignored everything else, unable to think beyond his immediate goals.

As soon as he got to the tent he was stuffing clothes into the bag; two shirts, two pants, two of everything before he snatched the dried towels from the chair. He'd packed enough for Eames out of habit more than thought, and he froze when he caught sight of Eames, wondering how long the man had been just behind him.

"Oi, I have a strict no motor oil in the bed policy," Eames said, gentler than he would have usually.

He looked away, to the bed where he'd deposited both pad and part. Evidently. He scarcely remembered doing it. Arthur frowned at that. Eames scooped up the part, placing it down on the floor instead, near the entrance flap. "That eager to shower, then?"

At first Arthur was worried he had ruined the sheets, synapses firing too slowly to recognize Eames was largely joking as quickly as he ordinarily would have. He blinked uncomprehendingly. "The blood..." he said, suddenly unsure of his plan, and then he shook his head, moving passed Eames to leave the tent. It was normal to want a shower. He was fine to want a shower. Eames hadn't been reprimanding him about the oil and he hadn't been reprimanding him for wanting a shower. Arthur bristled at himself: Eames' opinion didn't matter.

He moved quickly to the spigot, unmindful of the whispers and stares the bloodied state of his shirt was generating.

"Not to worry, everything is quite all right. I'm sure Ariadne can explain it better since she might not be in such a hurry as we are," Eames said somewhere behind him, evidently still following.

Arthur stripped down swiftly, anything to get the ruined clothes off. He hissed at even his own fingers brushing against mottled skin, bruises already starting to darken and discolor down his chest and more than likely his back and sides. He stepped out of the pool of his clothes and turned the water on, uncaring that the water he stood under was cold and black because he hadn't thought to turn the spigot earlier. He hadn't even pulled the soap out, the bag sitting untouched a few feet away. He just stood under the inky spray, slowly warming and beginning to clear as it swept away sweat and dried speckles of blood.

"You forgot the soap, darling." Eames was holding it out to him, down to just his trousers.

Arthur took the soap, squeezing his eyes shut in keen embarrassment at even further reminder that he wasn't all right. That they were back in the settlement and he still wasn't okay. That he'd had at least, _at least_ , half an hour to get his shit together, to calm the fuck down and start thinking rationally, and he wasn't. He was twenty fucking years old again with no idea what he was going to do. He grit his teeth, the muscles in his jaw working visibly as he swallowed then opened his eyes once more and started scrubbing himself down, mangled noises escaping as he pressed at bruises. And he kept scrubbing, fixated on it rather than facing the memories of what he'd witnessed. As though he could wash off the stench and air and the very presence of the ship and step out of shower new. Belatedly he realized he hadn't brought a wash cloth, they were still on the edge of their hastily configured sink. He couldn't reach parts of his back, but he tried, growing slightly frantic at his inability to contort himself and get at every inch of skin.

"Arthur, let me help. Please, I want to help you." Eames returned from fetching the washcloths that he'd apparently brought when Arthur had forgotten. "It's not shameful to let others help you, you know. Especially if they dearly want to."

"This much? This fucking much help?" Arthur snapped, everything spooling out at last,"How many panic attacks have you talked me down from? How goddamn many? And what if it never stops, what then? I'm twenty-seven, I'm twenty-seven and I should be able to take a fucking shower, tell me how many other people do you know that need this much fucking help all the fucking time? You already said it, said _at least_ I wasn't one of those guys jumping at shadows, and here we are because you were _dead wrong_ about that." His voice started to rise, the words bitter and molten as they left his mouth, "And I don't blame you, I wouldn't want to help me either, not this much, so could you fucking stop pretending-" and he turned to look at Eames at last, finally noticing how bad his shoulder looked, the slowly purpling bruises and the anger blew out of him almost at once, replaced with concern, "Your shoulder, Eames," he gasped, his incoherent frustrations no longer important.

"Yes, this much fucking help, but I swear to you if you bring my shoulder into this I will take all the clothes and towels and hide them so you can stand here naked and wet and think about exactly how hypocritical you're sounding right now. If you take this bruising and blackness and sprinkle it liberally all over your body that would be the picture I'm seeing right now. Now turn the fuck around, let me wash your back and stop this 放纵疯狂的结." It was jarring, Eames' shift from placating and almost servile to hostile and bold, and Arthur stared for a moment as the words gained meaning. "And if you're good, you can help me when you're done."

He looked down at himself, attempting to gauge if Eames was exaggerating or not. If he was, it wasn't by a large margin. The worst of it was along his upper body, deep red and brown woven together and pasted on where the Reaver had rammed its shoulders into him. Arthur jerked his head up, and let the pounding water remind him he was back at the settlement. 放纵疯狂的结...

"Am I that bad?" he asked quietly, more to himself as he carefully turned around, latching on to Eames' instructions since he couldn't rely on himself yet. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, no, he knew wasn't, but he didn't know how much was 'self-indulgent lunacy' and how much wasn't. He offered the soap without a word.

"Yes, that bad." Eames took the soap, lathering up the washcloth first. "Covered in bruises." A sigh and he carefully brushed the cloth down Arthur's back. "I don't know what that was all about, accusing me of pretending to care, but I'm going to let it slide. If you're worried about something, please talk to me about it, because I would like to help you get over this. I can't do that if you just keep bottling it all up inside."

Arthur tried to look at Eames over his shoulder, but eventually gave up and kept his gaze straight ahead as he deliberated over what he should say. Some of the anger and tension left as Eames gently washed his back, much more gently than Arthur had treated himself. "Some of them are your fault," he said, hand automatically seeking out the small circular bruises along his hips. Bruises that didn't hurt, ones Eames had sucked into his skin. The fondness didn't last.

"And what if I can't?" he asked, starting back towards hostile, "What if... it never gets any better? I'm not even hurt Eames, and I still," he swallowed tightly, "I'm getting worse, not better. And you don't want that," he continued shakily, ignoring how heavily he was implying Eames didn't want him, "No one wants someone who..." and he shut his eyes. Because he'd been nothing but awful to Eames, screaming at him, insulting him, pushing him away over perceived slights. He was surprised Eames had stayed as long as he did. Arthur wouldn't have.

"It's always worse before it gets better, Arthur. What I don't think you realize is that I don't have that many conditions for wanting you to stay. Just one: if you want to. Everything else is something that can be worked out. I don't understand why you think you were just going to walk out of that ship like nothing happened. It's not like anyone else did and they don't have your history. It's scarcely been an hour and you think everything should be normal. You know that's not how it works and you know it doesn't make you weak to accept it. So why you're insisting on it, I have no idea."

"It's not just this!" Arthur's voiced went pinched and tight, and he turned around to face Eames properly, "It's everything, it's been seven years, not a fucking hour! You think I haven't seen dead bodies?" Not like that, though, nothing like that, "I couldn't even shave with your stupid fucking straight razor, you gonna try to tell me that's okay too?"

"You _have_ conditions, Eames. Everyone does, and you're a fucking liar for trying to pretend they aren't there. And right now, you just feel bad for me, you're probably telling yourself what everyone fucking does. 'Oh, he'll get better,' 'Oh, I can fix him,' until one day I do something or say something and it's too fucking much, or not enough," and he was trembling with eyes rimmed red, hoping to God or whoever might be listening that it was still water from the shower starting to trail down his face, "so, you might have convinced yourself, but you haven't convinced me, and I," he looked away but forced himself to look back, it already hurt, felt like he was tearing out his own insides and the words sat like nails in his mouth, cutting him as he spoke, as he lied, but he didn't know what else to do to get Eames to leave him before he grew impossibly attached, "I... I don't want," and this was why he hated wanting things, it was setting himself up to be disappointed, but he couldn't un-want Eames, even though Eames deserved someone whole and healthy and who would kiss him just because. Arthur hated that that person wasn't him, and he couldn't deny there were tears, not now.

" _Idon'twantyou_ ," he said, forcing it out in one breath and pain flashed across his features, twisting them until he turned away from Eames and towards the towels.

Arthur toweled himself off and dressed in quick, efficient movements, moving from one task to the next with almost single-minded purposed. He packed up the soap, and the dirtied clothes, leaving the fresh change out for Eames but he didn't wait for him to come dress before he headed for the tent.

He passed eyes that had grown more curious than wary, but he wasn't in a state to notice. He didn't even notice Ariadne speaking with both Morena and Yusuf. Morena, whose eyes narrowed on him, and then looked for Eames. Arthur paid her no mind and headed straight back to the tent.

He was in the process of removing his clothing from the bag and into the one for laundry before he tucked the rucksack into its place, neatly under the bed, when Eames entered. Arthur glanced up just once and just as quickly looked away. He had nothing else to say to Eames, and it had been difficult enough claiming he didn't want him. It seemed to get harder to shut Eames out, and easier and easier to let him back in. He looked up again at the rustle of the tent flap, for a moment irrationally afraid Eames had decided to leave, but Morena stepped inside with Yusuf just behind.

"I believe the good doctor would like to examine each of you, separately, unfortunately," she said, and did sound genuine. Arthur had no reason to argue with her, or potentially Yusuf. "Eames," she said gently, "will you come with me, or shall Yusuf look over you first?"

"Arthur first. I'll live for now," Eames said, after a clear moment of hesitation. "We can go."

By the time Morena entered the tent without Eames, Yusuf was already wrapping up. "It's close to lunch hour, so Eames's helping out in the kitchens," she stated when Arthur didn't volunteer anything. Yusuf grumbled something about not making his job any easier but headed out of the tent, leaving Arthur sitting where he was. "I brought some of the tailored shirts," she mentioned, gesturing to the pile weighed down with a small tin of pomade.

Arthur watched her from the bed, offering very little reaction to what she presented. It was hard to feel excited over clothes and product. "What do you want for it?" he asked, a part of him wondering if Eames had really just gone to help with lunch or if he wasn't coming back. The thought created a tightness in his chest, and he hated himself for daring to feel hurt by it. By the fact Eames hadn't even returned to the tent to let Yusuf check him over, or tell Arthur - and why should he? Arthur had told him he wasn't wanted. Arthur tried to shut out the feeling.

"I don't want anything but to know how you're feeling. Yusuf says you have a concussion but you seem well enough to upset Eames thoroughly, although he seems to be determined enough not to give in. It seems odd to me that either you two are inseparable or you are pushing away suddenly. Eames insists that you're both fine, which I suspect is more of a platitude in order for no one to worry or interfere. You seem like an equally determined young man, so why do these swings happen? I want to hear your side of the story."

Arthur gave her a disinterested look. He had no desire to discuss his feelings, or explain himself, and he wouldn't. Didn't stop the guilt from flashing across his face as she reminded him that Eames was upset because of him. "If that's the price, you can keep it," he said harshly.

"It isn't so much a price as a peace offering. But if you're so unwilling to share, something you two really do have in common, I can only work with my assumptions. While I understand that you have experienced trauma and are doing your best not to let it affect Eames, he is one of the best people to help you through it as far as I can tell. I've offered to help you if he decided he could not handle it but, as per his prognosis, it seems you are far more unwilling around me. No one has gotten through trauma on their own, not fully, and you must remember that Eames has ghosts of his own, if he hides them exceptionally well. And he still truthfully want to help. If, for instance, you believe you will scare him away, you haven't managed to do so thus far."

Arthur let out a bitter laugh, a soft huffing noise coupled with a wry smile as he looked away. "Yeah, he wants to help now, but in a few days, a few weeks? No one wants to deal with that. And if it's not this it'll be something else," he asserted, turning his attention back to Morena, "And like you said, he's got his own problems. Why would he want mine too?" Arthur would argue that being able to hide issues was a sign Eames was a lot better off than Arthur was, but he wasn't actually interested in a conversation about any of this. Morena had goaded him.

"Is that what you're afraid of? That he will get tired of you?" Morena pursed her lips."It's already been several weeks and Eames seems to only grow fonder of you, if I measure by defensiveness. I cannot convince you of anything you don't want to hear of course but for one, not only is it easier for someone to get help from a person who has experienced the same, but those who have gone through trauma and improved find it easier to help others. And you should consider what it would be like if your places were switched. If you were the one stepping over your issues in order to help Eames, for whom you cared for deeply, and he was he one trying to push you away for seemingly your own good. If he had nightmares regardless of if you were there or not. What would you do? How would you feel? You don't have to answer those questions right now or at all, but the least you can do is consider your answer."

Arthur couldn't help but to consider as the questions were said out loud. He remembered the night before last, when his anger had shifted to worry, and he remembered the first nightmare he'd witnessed, the one that Eames had torn his stitches over. He'd felt awful and willing to do almost anything to ensure Eames was alright. And it wouldn't matter if Eames had those nightmares every night, well, it would matter, Arthur obviously preferred that he didn't. Not for his own sake, but for Eames' well being.

He stood up from the edge of the bed and collected the things Morena had brought, tucking them away and letting her see that he was accepting her offer without having to say it. "What if it's too late?" he asked, almost nervous as he turned to face her, "I told him... I told him I didn't want him." He glanced away, guilt once again coating his features. If Eames had had enough, Arthur couldn't say he blamed him.

"Fortunately, it isn't. Eames is upset but he's still willing to try. I'm certain he'll be back as soon as he can, with lunch in tow." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm glad you changed your mind."

Arthur wished he could accept that, but until he saw Eames and spoke to him, he didn't dare believe it would be simple. He sat back down on the bed, unaccountably tired, but he picked up the pad anyway, settling in to do research on "Niska" and expecting Morena to make her exit since he had no more to say. Then he remembered he had a concussion and she would probably be staying until Eames returned. Didn't change the fact he wasn't going to say much else.

Morena took a seat on the chair and they stayed opposite each other in silence until someone entered. Arthur glanced up to confirm it was Eames, that he'd come back despite what Arthur told him, and something in Arthur's throat caught and he couldn't manage to say anything as Morena made a quick and fluid departure. He shifted and set the pad down, moved almost to a stand, but then sat back on the bed awkwardly, unsure how to proceed. He cleared his throat in a bid for more time and he stared at the bed rather than meet green eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, words he rarely ever spoke with any sincerity. He never just apologized, he usually offered an excuse, but he couldn't do that to Eames. There was no excuse. He shouldn't have said it, he hadn't considered how Eames would feel. Arthur had assumed he would leave, that he was right to leave, and decided to end it himself rather than let Eames. But Eames had given no sign of tiring, had supported him without complaint. And he knew Eames wasn't an idiot, if he saw something in Arthur worth sticking around for... maybe he wasn't so hopeless. "If you still want... I understand if you don't, but I," and Christ this was equally hard to say, especially like this, when he wasn't certain of Eames answer, "I still want you. That, that never changed."

Eames froze for a moment, then sat down, placing a bowl of noodles in Arthur's lap. "I still want you, too," he stated, looking down at his own. "And I'll forgive you in a heartbeat. But if you're so hard on yourself, you assume I don't want to deal with you any time you have a moment of weakness... I'm afraid to see what would happen should I crack under one pressure or another."

"It wouldn't change anything," Arthur asserted and he wished he could somehow prove it, show Eames he was prepared to be every ounce as dedicated to him. He looked up at Eames and stayed quiet a moment as he gathered his thoughts. He didn't have Eames way with words, but he could try. "Morena asked me to consider how I'd feel if this were the other way around, if you were still having nightmares and if you were... going through this," and he hated to say outloud that he'd been triggered, that he was having an episode, lapsing, "and I realized it wouldn't change how I felt about you. I'd want you to get through it, because I know what it feels like, not because it's difficult to put up with. And I," Arthur let out a soft exhale, "I think it's the same for you. I forgot," he winced, because forgot wasn't the right word, but he didn't consider that although he had some ability to prevent nightmares, it didn't mean Eames didn't have them. He could see now that it looked like judgement. But it was judgement towards himself, impatience that others had pressed on him and he'd believed them, despite what he'd learned about PTSD.

And he didn't think to bring up Eames' shoulder, to him it wasn't a problem nor a burden, just a small thing to work around, same with the nightmares. Maybe Eames felt the same way about his idiosyncrasies. That they were little issues to deal with.

"Well I suppose she's useful for something besides being generally snoopy," Eames quipped, the relief audible in his voice. "You understand, then, that when I try to help I really mean it? And I'm not just going to take off as soon as there's a hiccup and that you expect me to scares me. And we have no way to prove this to each other but it doesn't change it much. You can look after my shoulder, as unimportant as it may be, I will let you but I want to take care of you in return. There's no reason for you to go at it alone and anyone who told you such was wrong." He picked at his noodles. "And you must talk to me, Arthur, I'm not going to pull away I swear to it."

Arthur stared at the bowl in his hands again, swallowing down whatever had lodged in his throat at Eames' words. He wanted Eames there, but he still didn't want to talk. What more was there to say? What good did talking about it do? Though, ignoring it clearly hadn't worked. Pretending the war never happened was impossible, Arthur had spent seven years trying and failing. He pressed his shoulder to Eames', sighing softly before he set the food on the bedside table untouched.

Considering how swiftly Eames had turned to joking and changing the subject the last time Arthur had brought his issues up, he wasn't eager to try again while the wounds still felt fresh and raw, so he gave a muted agreement and moved to take up the pad again.

They sat in silence for a while and Eames didn't even reprimand him for not eating or for jumping straight back on the pad. Arthur supposed he appreciated it although guilt that Eames was probably sitting on his worry crept in. But he wasn't hungry, so he stood by his decision to continue research.

"Do you think we're going out to Rook today or leave it for tomorrow morning?" Eames said eventually, when he was done with his noodles.

Work was something Arthur could latch onto and push everything else aside. He'd prefer to do that than sit around trying to escape his own thoughts. "Scrapyard would be better," he suggested instead of Rook. They still needed the windshield, and extra steel, but there was plenty of metal sheets and he knew which windshield they needed. He and Ariadne had triple checked the measurements and found it only needed to be filed down some with one of the cutters.

"Right! I forgot about that..." Eames fell quiet again, then Arthur felt Eames' forehead press against his shoulder. "Maybe in a bit."

Arthur tensed, the contact sudden and unexpected, but he relaxed quickly, trying to shift his shoulder to make it more comfortable as he turned his head and hesitated a moment. They hadn't really discussed where they were, if it was back to friends or back to... everything. And they'd done things completely backwards, offering some intimacies too soon while shying away from simpler ones. Or he had, Arthur supposed. Eames hadn't turned anything down, Arthur had been the one drawing lines while Eames did his best to respect those boundaries that Arthur needed and pushed at the ones he didn't. Arthur steeled himself and dropped the kiss to the top of Eames' head before quickly retreating to his research again.

Eames chuckled, settling into Arthur's shoulder. He probably hadn't missed Arthur's deliberation. "What do you want to do? Be, rather?" he asked.

It took Arthur a moment to parse what Eames was asking him. It took longer to find an answer. And, ultimately, rather than answer he volleyed the question back, "What do you want?" He'd been the one in the wrong this time, that much was clear, and if Eames decided friends Arthur would take what he could get. Even as his heart thudded painfully in protest. He wanted last night, he wanted the morning after, with Eames hands still on him, like he couldn't get enough. He wanted the light teasing touches, he wanted every scrap of affection Eames had to offer. Like a leaf turning toward the sunlight, trying to soak it in. He waited anxiously and choked down the hope threatening to rise in him.

"I asked you first," Eames complained, mostly good naturedly. A sigh and he lifted his head, looking a little bit to the side. "I'd understand if you wanted to start from scratch, ground zero. But..." He looked back at Arthur this time, looking for an answer. "I'd like to stay as we were. This morning, last night, I just..." He tilted his face down. "But it's one thing to rely on me to help you, another to want me to be that close."

Arthur felt immense relief and the corners of his mouth ticked up in a small smile. He felt braver knowing Eames still wanted him, that Eames had forgiven him. "Last night," he said, "last night was... good. I've never... twice," he admitted, the boldness shifting into near adulation, "you were... we should do it again."

He doubted he'd be up for anything soon, but, in the future, if Eames was willing to wait. If he could get back to normal, and that was certainly incentive not to give up.

Eames snickered this time, letting his arm circle Arthur's waist. "Absolutely. We'll do it again." He put his forehead back on Arthur's shoulder, relaxed and amused. "I like it when your language breaks down."

"Shut up," Arthur sniped, but Eames' good humor was contagious, even if it didn't halt the redness spreading to his ears. "It might not have been you," he tried to eat his earlier words and goad Eames, just mindless teasing, "it had been almost a year." He rested his head on Eames' feeling content. More content than he could have imagined, and he yawned.

"And look how long you lasted. But I understand, you'd rather put it through several runs just for the sake of science and statistics."

"Forgive me for wanting to be thorough," Arthur intoned even as Eames yawned into his shoulder.

"Nap time maybe?"

Arthur considered it. He wouldn't, but he knew Eames would have an easier time if Arthur tried, and once Eames was down he could start in on some research. If avoiding it wasn't the answer, maybe learning all he could was. And if it was too much... he'd wake Eames, forcing himself to accept that Eames would rather have his sleep disturbed than let Arthur suffer alone. "Yeah," he agreed simply.

He lifted his head and put the pad up, but still within reach, and he gave Eames a moment to sort himself out so he could settle in next to him. He took off his shoes and drew his legs up onto the bed, getting on all fours first to reach the lantern and turn it off. The shirts on the windows blocked as much of the afternoon light as the fabric was able and the room painted in soft blues. He smiled down at Eames who had already closed his eyes, the thought that he had even a small claim on him had a blend of pride and warmth and awe swelling in his chest and he allowed himself a moment longer to marvel before he nestled in. He grimaced at the pressure on some of the deeper bruises, but no more than that small reaction as he pressed his back to Eames.

Eames was out quickly, and Arthur moved carefully to retrieve the pad without disturbing him. He waited to see if he needed to be gentled back to sleep before flipping open the case and unlocking the dimmed screen. He spend the next hour and some reading accounts of Reaver sightings, almost nothing first hand, just entire Outer Rim towns wiped out, ransacked and left a mess. The same stories told to scare children, the ones that horror films utilized to sell tickets. Nothing concrete, no official reports, the entire Alliance was mum on the subject. But he'd have to dig in to the reports on the towns mentioned later if they wanted to get anything done in the scrapyard before dinner. He put the pad back, and quietly whispered, "Eames."

Eames yawned and rubbed at his eyes, stirring, rolling onto his back. "Did you want to eat your lunch?"

Arthur didn't, he still felt nauseous and overall not hungry, but he knew he should be eating. One skipped meal wasn't an issue, though, was it? "No," he said simply, willing himself to move, get out of bed and ready to head to the scrapyard. If he could exhaust himself he might be able to sleep. He was already fatigued, and physical effort almost felt beyond him but he sat up anyway, ignoring the dizziness. Laying down may have been a mistake.

"Oh now we're showing." Eames brushed his hand along Arthur's back. "Are you sure you want to be going to the scrapyard to lug things around in the sun like this?"

Arthur eased himself back down, considering. He wouldn't have let Eames go in this state, concussed and drained, Eames had certainly complained about his concern enough. And there wasn't exactly a deadline, they had the defragmenter, the rest of the ship was only a matter of time and labor. He'd stayed in for a hangover.

"You and Ariadne could go," he started to suggest, and then he remembered Eames' shoulder and its freshly bruised state, he corrected, "to Rook." A little cleaning was all she needed, Eames could manage that for the next, two, three hours before it was time for dinner. He was relatively certain he didn't someone to watch over him if he made sure he stayed awake.

"I guess. I can probably check how easily that thing installs. Might even be able to do it one handed. And now I have to go find Ariadne. Haven't a clue where to start." Eames shuffled off the bed, putting his boots back on.

Arthur remained on his side rather than sprawling out, but he encroached a little in the warmth Eames left behind. "Just ask someone," he offered tiredly, not sure why Eames felt the need to grumble about it when it was easy enough to find out. She was probably in whatever passed for her home.

"I know, I know, let me complain." Eames stood before turning and kneeling, gently stealing a kiss, pulling back to grin. Arthur smiled back, if tiredly. "No sleeping, you missed your chance." With that he stood, heading out.

Arthur spent the rest of the time researching although at one point Yusuf dropped by with two pill bottles. One was full of painkillers and the other of the sleeping pills that were finally finished. He looked up to register which one was which until Yusuf insisted on checking Arthur's concussion. His eye movements were still sluggish, but he was able to answer the questions without much delay. So he was fine. He went back to research after Yusuf left.

The pills didn't bother them if he didn't think about it thoroughly but it was hard to do so when he had yet to turn up anything interesting on the pad. What if that was enough for Eames to change his mind, he wondered, watching the pad fall asleep in his hands. He didn't need Arthur. They had the defragmenter and repairs were going to go quickly. His research was more or less just a distraction now, not very useful.

He perked up when Eames entered with two plates in hand and sat up, accepting one. He would at least think about eating as Eames took a seat on the chair across from him. "Did you find anything useful on that pad of yours?" Eames asked.

"No." His research into instances of Reaver sightings and what was known about them yielded :officially nothing and unofficially next to nothing so far. But even if he had found something, it was hardly relevant information to Eames. Eames had no reason to study Reavers. "The red label's the painkillers, the yellow is the sleeping pills."

"Good, I'll take a red one now then." Eames went to stand and Arthur pulled him back to sitting.

"Do you have the memory of a goldfish - Yusuf brought you one - the one you couldn't be bothered to get yourself?" he reprimanded.

Eames frowned, probably. It came out more as a pout. "It still hurts though."

Arthur stood up, putting aside his dinner and neatly avoiding Eames' half-sprawled legs, and went to grab one of the last wash cloths. He soaked it in their makeshift sink. "It can take up to thirty minutes to kick in," he reminded, and now he was pointing out the obvious. He wrung out the cloth, half glad Black Rock was so warm, but still wishing there was temperature control over the water.

"Take off your shirt," he ordered and returned, carefully maneuvering himself between Eames' legs once more. He gently draped the cloth over Eames' shoulder as soon as the shirt was off, lending most of the overhang to his chest where the branch had torn a larger hole compared to Eames' back. He noted the stitches were holding up, even if the surrounding area was a deep angry purple.

"I'll be right back, I'm going to go get some ice" he said and headed for the exit even as Eames sighed. At least he stayed put and that was all Arthur wanted from him right now. This was grounding. Doing something for Eames benefit, giving him a chance to focus on what he could do. Proving he wasn't a useless parasite in this. He had a reason to hold on, to push through. He was needed. More than that, he was wanted.

He grabbed two bowls from the cabinets in the kitchens, filling one with hot water and one with cold. As soon as he threw several cubes of ice in to preserve the cold, he returned at an even, if not as hurried, pace. He used his elbow to brush aside the flap and carefully avoided the edge of the bed before setting the bowls down on the nightstand. He moved the lunch bowls and re-positioned the water into a less hazardous placement. "This used to work for me," he said, but didn't elaborate, as he peeled the washcloth away to submerge in the ice water before he reapplied it. "Alternating heat and cold." He tapped at Eames legs so he could sit.

Eames groaned in relief. "It helped with your knee?" he prodded, moving his legs to give Arthur room to sit.

"No," Arthur said simply as he took the seat, "I actually had a piece of shrapnel embedded just about there." He indicated his side. "You guys started getting smart, and packing rusted scrap metal in your IEDs." The injury hadn't been bad, but medicine wasn't always on hand and relatively minor injuries got the short of the stick as far as supplies went. Dom had shown him the trick, admitted it was better for soreness in the muscle tissue, but it had helped. Arthur had grown so used to simply not acknowledging Dom, never speaking his name, avoiding everything he could, even subconsciously. "Dom did this for me," he admitted, because ignoring the man's existence clearly didn't mean he had actually grieved and moved on. Eames and Ariadne and even Morena in her own way had hounded him about it. Maybe he should take the advice he'd given Eames and listen to their hounding sooner rather than later. He removed the cloth and dipped it in the hot water before smoothing it back on.

"He sounds like a good guy, this Dom of yours. I should've like to meet them both."

"He was." Arthur agreed, falling quiet for a moment and finding it difficult to work his way out of the somber tone. "He didn't always listen," he added, which was part of the reason Arthur ended up with the shrapnel wound, "but I learned a lot from him. He was always pushing us forward, to keep going, even when things were... pretty much hopeless." He went quiet again, but it was a little easier to find his voice again, and he swapped hot for cold, "I don't know if you would have gotten along, actually." He smiled a little wistful, "Mal would have liked you, Dom... would be more interested in what you could do."

"What I could do? What do you mean we wouldn't get along? I fancy myself a perfectly sociable person. And, on the other hand, why do you think Mal would like me?"

"Socializing isn't a useful skill in the theater of war," Arthur said. "Dom expected things to go a certain way and when they didn't..." Arthur supposed it was a habit he picked up as well, but where Arthur made dry comments and moved to compensate for a perceived lack, Dom was faster to point fingers and shout. Where Arthur would bend to authority, Dom wouldn't. "Mal would have found your sarcasm funny, Dom would have called it insubordinate. He would respect your skills if he needed them, but Mal would have been impressed either way. Probably would have asked you to teach her how to read people the way you do."

"Sounds... intense. Or, rather, different, compared to huddling for support and mostly living in fear of the next bombing and if someone you knew was the next target."

"I wouldn't want to wait like that," Arthur said as he made another swap between cold and hot. He'd rather have his boots on the ground, so to speak, heading into danger rather than wait for it to find him. It couldn't have been easy.

"I have to say you stood to learn a little bit more from Mal and be a little more impressed and amused with me. I am very impressive and amusing."

Arthur half laughed at the choice of lighter topic to change to, even if rubbed salt into issues that had little to do with Eames and more to do with himself. "I am impressed," he said, focusing more on the cloth as he said it, only able to admit if he kept his gaze averted. He placed the washcloth back on Eames shoulder. "And occasionally you say something clever."

"I always say clever things," Eames stated, catching Arthur's wrist gently with his other hand, leaning forward a little, smiling. "You just poke fun at me all the time."

"That's because I'm wittier," he boasted in keeping with the repartee. He let the hand on his wrist stay, didn't even flinch at the contact.

"What were you researching that whole time, anyway?"

The faint smile vanished. But he answered calmly, "Reavers."

While Eames had been sleeping, Arthur hadn't been afraid to confront them. Because he could have woken Eames if he needed him, and he had been fine with Eames dozing peacefully while he worked. He didn't find much but he'd chosen not to avoid the knowledge of Reavers, not to avoid what it meant about Dom's suicide. He'd chosen to seek it out. Just because Eames had been there, because Eames had promised to be there. To be whatever help Arthur needed. He let his hands linger on Eames' chest, a gentle touch.

"I see. The whole time? I don't imagine you found much of use. Are you alright though?" Eames asked, running his fingers along the side of Arthur's palm. "You seemed spooked when I came in."

Arthur went rigid, and then forced himself to settle. Eames hadn't sounded angry, and he had every reason to ask. He wasn't accusing him of anything. "Are you sure you don't want the pills? Nightmares..." He'd told Eames about his vocal cords being paralyzed, he remembered that and if Eames didn't want to risk it... He withdrew slightly.

Eames let him withdraw, holding on to the tip of Arthur's pinky, a contact easily broken if Arthur wanted it so. "I'd rather know that you're having a nightmare and try to help than not. No matter what dog analogies Morena would like to employ, I do want to help, or at least try if I can't. So you don't have to go at it alone."

"Dog analogies?" Arthur asked, baffled. His own answer to the question of what he would do in Eames' place lingered in the air. He had told the truth, he'd do his best to help Eames through it. He'd be on the pad, consulting with Morena if he had to, tapping every resource he had to make sure Eames received the care he needed. But Eames probably wouldn't have handled things as poorly as Arthur. He hadn't seen Eames so much as bothered by anything Arthur was suffering. He shifted his gaze away and caught sight of twin pill bottles. It clicked. He knew he would do whatever he could, he already had. Eames needed a warm body, and Arthur had volunteered himself and hardly considered it anything. He remembered Eames calling him a hypocrite in the shower. Arthur pulled his pinky away, but only to properly hold Eames' hand, and he turned his head back to face him. "I understand." He shifted a little closer. "I don't want to need you," he admitted, "but I'm glad... you're here. With me. I'm sorry I don't show you," his hold loosened. The itch to withdraw, tuck himself away, was very present but he resisted although it didn't stop him from readying himself to flee the second Eames showed disgust, or exasperation with him.

"No one wants to need anyone but no man is an island." Eames ducked his head, bringing Arthur's hand to his lips gently, ghosting across his knuckles and smiling. "I'm glad you let me stay when it matters. And when it doesn't as well. That is how I know you're glad to have me, should you deny it." He looked up, keeping the smile, warm and settling. "I knew you wouldn't change your mind and fail to realize that we do feel the same. You've only just demonstrated that with your novel compress methods."

Arthur smiled, a full one, crinkling his eyes and showing off his teeth, relieved and for the moment completely happy. This stunning, brilliant, patient, sarcastic asshole seated across from him, who knew more about him, who knew _him_ was willing to be there, wanted to be there... Arthur didn't know what to do with the feeling. With the knotted tangle of guilt, unworthiness and selfish want and sheer gratefulness.

"Now, for possibly the fifth time is as many days, would you like to eat your dinner? Sleep starved and food starved as well as with a bit of nasty head trauma, I really can't say I'd recommend that." The change of topic to dinner was a welcome one, and Arthur wasn't sure whose benefit it was for if it was intentional and he didn't care, he jumped on it, unable to process and respond to the rest of what Eames had said. He gave a shaky laugh, and toned down the smile.

"肥屁股, if you were that hungry," he teased, picking up his plate. He still couldn't say he was hungry, but he would try because he knew he needed the meal.

"What can I say, I live to eat and sleep. If I can't have one, I can at least indulge the other," Eames said and picked up his own plate before propping his legs up on the bed again, calf diagonally across Arthur's knee.

Arthur considered playfully shoving Eames' legs off his lap, but decided to let them stay and pin him to the bed. "Sloth," he chided, but couldn't mask the undercurrent of fondness. The beans were more appealing than the dried beef and he started picking at those. He told himself the nausea would pass, and tapped at Eames' legs again. "Water," he explained, hoping to be let up without fuss so he could fetch it out of the water drum.

"A virtue." Eames answered, taking a couple of bites. He put his legs down. "After all, I have to knock you down a notch somehow. How are you feeling?"

Arthur assumed Eames was asking after his physical health this time as he neared the sink. "Sore, tired," he answered. "But fine." There were the bottles that Arthur had stashed away and no one had requested back, and he filled both before he returned to the bedside. He cleared a space on the nightstand which was quickly growing more cluttered than he liked. He'd need to fix it if he wanted to set the pad back. "Your shoulder feeling better?" He asked, scooping up the plate before he seated himself, holding the dish up in silent invitation for Eames to put his legs back.

"Much, actually, since you asked. Is your head hurting you?" Eames took the invitation to replace his legs. "We'll need to set an alarm on the pad for whatever the best interval is for checking on you. If you're as tired as I am, I will be very surprised if you can't sleep tonight."

Arthur couldn't remember when his head had started to hurt, but he'd at least mentioned it to Yusuf who could do something about it and who actually needed the information. "It's not bad," he answered, but winced when Eames turned on the lantern. His eyes adjusted, but he kept them averted from where the light was unusually bright as he addressed the rest of what Eames said, "Every two or three hours was what Yusuf told me for you." A concussion was a concussion, Arthur couldn't imagine there would be much variance in how much sleep was allowed. Eating was proving to be a chore, and he drank more water than anything, but he finished half the beans and a few strips of beef. "And you aren't a paragon of health, when was the last time you mentioned your shoulder was hurting of your own volition?"

"So long as it's not falling off, it'll be fine. I would think four is good enough, I think it's better for the insomniac to get more rest rather than less."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "A headache was the least of our worries, and there wasn't anything you could have done about it. I told Yusuf." He defended, and he didn't want to dwell on what could have happened to Eames as a result of his shoulder injury back on the Reaver ship. If they had't had backup. His blood chilled at the thought. He put it out of mind. "Are we going to sleep now?" he asked, half-hopeful. There were still dinner and lunch dishes to contend with, and Arthur wished there was someone else that could take care of it for them, but he was sure he could manage to clean up before he turned in for the night.

"Alright, alright, fair enough," Eames allowed. "Of course. Don't even have to shower." Eames took his legs off of the bed again, starting to put them in his boots. "I'll get the dishes if you want to start turning in," he stated, placing his plate on the ground so it was easier to maneuver into his shoes.

The offer was appealing. It was still getting dark outside, and Arthur was tired. "You sure?" He asked, his plate settled in his lap now that Eames' legs were no longer occupying the space.

"S'not that difficult," Eames shrugged, standing and picking up both his own plate and stealing Arthur's from his lap. He scraped the remainder of the beans into the bowl with the noodles, leaving one fork. "Be right back." He ducked out with a yawn.

Arthur took off his shoes and socks then slipped under the covers and made himself comfortable before he remembered the alarm. He set it for four hours and placed it carefully on the nightstand. Sleep claimed him only moments after he put his head down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos, they mean a super lot to us. I'm going to try my best to keep up the posting schedule to every other Thursday but I make no promises. Also feel free to contact me on Tumblr (ko-no-yo or oyonok) if you're too shy to post in the comments. We love hearing your comments and opinions. c:


	10. Chapter 10

The alarm went off once during the night and Arthur was able to answer his questions even through the haze of a migraine. Duty done, they both fell asleep immediately and without a second thought. Come day break, Eames yawned himself awake, casting a sleepy glance at the window. He hadn't set the alarm and the light coming in was unhelpfully stripey but it was definitely morning.

Double checking the pad so that it wouldn't ring again, Eames brushed his lips against Arthur's cheek, gently stroking along the inside of his palm. Hopefully the headache had subsided somewhat during the night. His own pains were vying for his attention but he ignored them for the time being, concentrating on gently waking Arthur first.

"'s time to get up?" Arthur slurred, eyes attempting to open and body attempting to push itself up. Neither of those things seemed to be working very well.

"A little bit," Eames allowed, running his fingers gently along Arthur's jaw. Arthur's eyes fluttered closed once more from where they had been cracked open moments before. "How are you feeling? Better than before?" It seemed like it, seeing as Arthur seemed to not be kicking and screaming at light and sound. He didn't look as healthy as Eames would like him to, but at least he wasn't in pain. Neither of them probably looked their best, and it was far and away time to shave for them both.

"Yeah. Getting tired of that question though."

"Well get better then, it's as simple as that," Eames teased before rubbing at his own eyes, yawning once more. Arthur seemed to be awake now although clearly enjoying being touched. Not that Eames particularly wanted to get up either. "How about your memory? Remember waking up in the middle of the night?" Better than before only technically answered that question. "Otherwise, up we go." He poked at Arthur's side, barely stifling another yawn.

"Yeah. You asked what was for dinner," Arthur answered and twisted away sharply at Eames' prodding. Glaring, he shifted upright. "Ass," he griped but swung his legs over the side of the bed and started digging around for a clean change of clothing.

"Time waits for no man." Eames flexed his shoulder while Arthur looked through the clothes for whatever he needed. The joint did feel better, although something seemed to snap apart continuously somewhere inside, making movement unpleasant. The rest didn't hurt unless he put pressure on it, something unavoidable as he sat upright, waiting for Arthur to find all he needed before looking through the quickly shrinking pile of clean clothes for something to wear as well.

"You're still an ass," Arthur maintained, pulling on socks before tossing a second pair out for Eames.

"I'm afraid it's a permanent affliction," Eames agreed, sliding into a pair of trousers then stepping into his boots, carefully flexing the rest of his joints. It wasn't so bad. He took his turn at the sink, brushing his teeth and washing his face, smoothing water through his hair. That certainly helped with waking up fully.

"Are we going to Rook or the scrapyard?" Arthur asked while Eames blinked water from his eyes.

Eames dried himself off, considering. "Scrapyard to Rook, I suppose. That way we'll have all the pieces of the puzzle. Oh, hello," he chuckled, watching Arthur tuck stray hairs into otherwise flawlessly slicked back hair. Blast from the past, it seemed. "Pomade? Where did you get that?"

"Morena," Arthur answered with a hint of a smile as he finished putting on his shoes. "She finished tailoring the clothes."

"I see. I guess you'll have to say thank you. Probably for the first time." A grin and he wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist, gently so as not to disturb the bruises. "And I will have to say thank you." Not that the floppy hair hadn't been adorable, but there was just something about Arthur and his hair brushed back that made him look far and away more put together, even if he was still wearing Eames' oversize clothes. "What about shaving?" he asked, mostly conversationally so he wouldn't have to let go quite yet. "Now, later, me or by yourself this time?"

"Later," Arthur answered quickly, already halfway to tense but relaxing quickly against Eames' chest. He reached a hand up and ran his fingers over Eames jaw, scratching lightly. Eames leaned into the touch, turning his head and having little qualm with impersonating an animal being petted. "I'll get breakfast if you want to shave."

"If you could, luv," he smiled, loosening his hold slightly but stealing a kiss instead of stepping away, nipping at Arthur's bottom lip. It was almost not worth keeping all of it a secret if he only got to touch Arthur in private.

Arthur moved in to steal a kiss of his own before pulling back to smile. "Come join me when you're ready." With that he was gone, tent flaps swaying behind him. Eames watched them move for a bit, then figured he might as well make good on the shaving bit.

He made sure it was neat and clean this time, and by the time he emerged from the tent, Arthur was already at their table, digging sadly in a bowl of plain rice. Yusuf was out, speaking animatedly with a young woman, Isaac was engaged in a conversation with a group of older gentlemen. Morena was crouched down with one of the kids and Ariadne was nowhere to be found.

And as much as he liked to complain about it, he was hungry, so Eames sat down and tucked into his plate, finishing it just as Arthur pushed away his own half full bowl.

"While I admire your optimism, Arthur, we're going to be here for a while yet, so it's better to eat than not."

"If I could eat it I would, but I'm not hungry," Arthur snapped then pushed the chair to his right away from the table. Ah. Ariadne neared almost cautiously and took a seat.

"How are you feeling?" she ventured, looking first at Arthur, then back to Eames, as if for support. No comments on him shaving straight this time, so she was probably still hesitant around Arthur.

"Not as terrible as this rice," Eames shrugged, putting another bite in his mouth, chewing placidly. He'd rather eat now and not be hungry later.

"Better," Arthur answered, then, uncharacteristically: "What about you?"

"I barely slept."

The table descended into silent chewing for a little, no one wanting to say much about the day before. Eames privately hoped Ariadne wouldn't follow down their path and fall prey to nightmares of her own. Even though she was the one who had been able to do something and not be helpless in the face of danger. He shook the thought off before it got any farther.

Eventually they agreed to head to the scrapyard for the morning so they could take out the windshield and all split off into different directions before meeting back at the transports. It would take all four of them to lug the windshield to Rook so the transport was full when they headed off towards the scrapyard.

The day mostly went off without a hitch, the windshield fairly intact and hopefully without any large microscopic cracks, as oxymoronic as it sounded. Eames really didn't fancy turning into goo should the ship depressurize and spent a good while tapping on it as they slowly unearthed in from the rest of the rubble and tearing off what metal casing remained. The largest piece seemed perfectly intact, somehow, while the smaller ones had cracks along the edges, but those would be easy enough to sand down. Fortunately there were also extras: the ship where the glass had come from possessed a more encompassing view than Rook so if the sanding didn't go right or any cracks were discovered, there was at least a couple of back ups. Loading it all on to the back of the transport was not difficult when they worked together and they stopped by the settlement for lunch.

Arthur managed to eat a bit more of lunch than he had at breakfast - the physical exertion stirred an appetite, if not much of one. He drank plenty of water, however, and Eames was glad for at least that. When they got to Rook, Isaac was again strapped into the harness and the rest of the day was spent paneling and cleaning. The hours ticked by quickly, and while they hadn't made as much progress as he had hoped, it was a decent amount of labor. Ariande had started sanding the windshields with the only functional sander in the settlement, and it had been slow going mostly due to the nature of the work and the time that had to be spent checking and re-checking the glass for cracks. They seemed to be in luck, but Ariadne would need more time tomorrow, and possibly the next before the windshield was ready to be inset.

Isaac managed to carry the conversation through both the rides and lunch as well, the rest of them mostly quiet besides the occasional comment. It was nice, if lacking in much substance, a sort of white noise among the general silence of the planet. Eames was almost too tired to eat when they finally settled with their plates, the water he'd drank mostly out of hunger splashing around purposeless in his stomach. How Arthur was not eating was somewhat understandable at that moment but only then; once he got around to it, he finished his plate. Arthur only managed to eat half and Eames didn't have the heart to reprimand him about it. Half was better than two bites, he supposed, but it still worried him. Hopefully Arthur would get better over time because even when they did get off the planet, taking him to a certified doctor would be a pain if close to impossible. Hopefully this was only the concussion talking.

Late to dinner meant late to shower but at least there was no line. Eames had to sit while Arthur showered, taking his turn with no small measure of relief, too tired to even tease properly. At the very least they didn't have to show off their impressive constellations of bruises to anyone, a small mercy. And they would have to do laundry very soon, although Arthur had apparently decided to take advantage of Morena's generosity and change into fitting clothes - pajamas fashioned out of some cotton ensemble Eames didn't remember owning.

Hopefully they would be done in three or four days. Any longer and he feared his own energy might just peter out and he'd be little help to Arthur like that. As they neared the tent he sighed in relief, taking a tablet of the pain killers so at least the aches wouldn't wake him and flopping down immediately, falling asleep as soon as he made sure Arthur was comfortable.

But it wasn't long before he was woken by a high pitched sound - an alarm except for how it wasn't. The pad didn't make that sort of sound and it was the middle of the night, time otherwise not obvious, so it couldn't be something outside. Eames sat up abruptly, trying to orient himself. No flashing red lights, no noise of planes over head, no nothing but that sound. A tinny eee sound somewhere to his right.

Arthur?

It was whining, terrified whining and Arthur had curled in on himself, fingers tight around the pad he must have been on before he fell asleep. Eames had been too tired to properly dream - Arthur should be tired now, as well, but after what had happened... "Arthur, it's alright, it's just a dream," he whispered, carefully stroking along Arthur's arm. Interrupting might earn him another bruise, but he could try to soothe and comfort as much as he could, gently, trying not to jostle, even humming softly. Fatigue was settling in on him mercilessly as adrenaline faded, but he was awake enough for now.

The noise turned softer, quieter, as Arthur seemed to listen and shifted in closer. His shoulders relaxed slightly, losing some of their tightness. Thank goodness. That was, until Arthur went rigid again and tried to pull away. Awake, then.

"I'm fine, go back to sleep."

"Of course you are." Eames placed a kiss on Arthur's temple, settling back down, without letting him shuffle too far off. There was no need for that and wouldn't help either of them sleep. "Right as rain." Which wasn't very right of this planet but now his own mind was just being contrary and he really needed to sleep. "Will you be able to sleep?" he questioned, eyes already closing. "There's... you know.."

Arthur softened, sinking into the mattress, then rolled over, breathing soft in the darkness, all traces of nightmare and shame gone. "It's too late for sleeping pills."

"Mn, well, just in case. Not an Eames privilege or whatever," Eames said sleepily, checking a yawn and settling in once more. It was all too easy to slide his arm back onto Arthur's waist, letting it rest there as he drifted off slightly. Arthur was okay and therefore it was okay, but the worry that Arthur wouldn't go back to sleep kept him from falling asleep completely, passively listening for deep breathing and stillness.

"Is it the same for you?" Arthur asked after a while of silence, "The same nightmare?" A pause then, "Nevermind."

"Mm, same, yes, with variations," Eames answered automatically, the images stirring behind his eyes and what little fear the volitional memory inspired brought him closer to thoughtful than really asleep. He sighed slightly, making it go away before opening his eyes once more. Still the same tent and same Arthur, outlines visible against what little light the stars cast on the thin walls of the tent. "Doesn't repeat as much as jolt me awake though." If he did wind up taking sleeping pills that worked he ended up being stuck in that state for what seemed like ages and that was far worse than just waking up once. "Do you want to talk about it? It's alright if you do. Or if you don't." He wasn't going to sleep until Arthur did anyway and talking was better than letting his mind run amok, dreaming up half awake nightmares that, while more run of the mill, were sometimes harder to shake off than the actual thing.

"There's not much to say," Arthur mused, "it doesn't change for me. You should sleep."

"Aw, but now you got me all awake and excited to talk about terrible things I don't naturally want to talk about. The last time it changed, you were in it." At least that was an interesting detail and one that would keep Arthur's mind off his own problems, at least for a little. "Oh, but you witnessed that didn't you. Unfortunate." He pressed their foreheads together, just breathing, eyes fluttering closed for a fraction of a second longer than they should. "Have you even tried changing it? What all the smart docs with all their fancy degrees tell you to do, last time I heard." He'd tried it once and ended up frozen as always, logic quickly evacuating in the face of terror. No creative concepts ever made it past that threshold. Maybe he was doing something wrong, but he hadn't liked to try again.

"They handed me a prescription and it worked," Arthur responded shortly before continuing in a more curious tone: "You dreamed of me?"

Eames chuckled, amused that Arthur's interest was so suddenly piqued. Then again, you weren't in other people's nightmares every day. "I did. Counting up all the names and bodies and reminding me that the guilt wasn't going anywhere fast." Hopefully Arthur would differentiate dreams enough from reality to know that that wasn't what Eames had thought then, nor what he thought now. "Nasty business, all of it. At least I can apparently modify it, somehow, subconsciously, although I'd rather skip out on the trying."

Arthur was quiet for a moment and his fingers traced lightly over the contours of Eames' face. Eames closed his eyes, following Arthur's hand in his mind until Arthur pressed in a little bit closer, drawing in his body in and limiting the space between them. "You were in mine, one was... bad. The other one, just strange."

Eames' eyebrows quirked up. He wouldn't have expected himself to feature in Arthur's dreams at all. "Tell me about the strange one," he prompted, hoping that the dream representation of himself didn't do anything too terrible in the bad dream. When had it been? Had Eames slept straight through it?

Arthur turned his face away. "It was a strange dream, there's not much to it." Was that embarrassment? "It's late, go back to sleep."

"You brought it up," Eames chuckled again, taking the chance to place a gentle kiss on Arthur's cheek, pressing up against the stubble. "And I'd argue it's early but alright, if you don't want to tell me I'll have to assume it's something naughty." Another laugh and he squeezed Arthur's waist, teasing.

"Assume whatever you want," Arthur responded, unfazed, "you'll be wrong." But Eames could feel his cheek dimple with a smile in the darkness before Arthur turned his head to kiss him, first catching only the corner of his mouth then shifting to align their lips properly.

Every time it was a surprise and it really shouldn't be, he should trust Arthur to know what Arthur wanted after all. He leaned in to it, closing his eyes - it made no difference in the darkness anyway. He nibbled softly on Arthur's lip before pulling away, still laughing. "I think I shall, then, concoct the most fanciful fantasy I can think of and assume it came from your imagination, therefore I take no responsibility for it. Wrong or not." He shifted, pressing their lips together once more and pulling Arthur's waist to bring him closer. It was the middle of the night and he was awake and happy - that was something hadn't happened in recent memory.

"Yeah?" Arthur asked, goading as he pulled away by only a fraction, "Even though you claim to be the one with the more vivid imagination, you're going to credit me?" He mouthed at Eames' upper lip, distracting him from talking for a minute before switching to his lower.

"Mm," Eames agreed easily, kissing back with broad, lazy nips. "Can't have people thinking I'm the crazy, kinky one." Arthur didn't seem willing to share his dream, that much was clear by the way he was going along with this route, but he supposed that was alright and not at all unpleasant. He would be worried about this leading to questionable laundry but he was still too tired to do much but kiss and tease, hopefully until Arthur fell asleep.

Arthur yawned, turning his head to the side mid-kiss, and then languidly kissed from there, catching the underside of Eames' jawline. Why, Arthur had asked, what's the point of kissing without purpose and now this? The man was learning in strides. Eames shifted again, sliding his other arm under Arthur's waist and lacing his fingers, balancing comfortably against Arthur and letting him do as he pleased, thumbs stroking softly at skin and fabric. It didn't take long at all for Arthur to start falling asleep, movements slowing down comfortably, putting Eames to sleep as well. His breathing slowed even further and his fingers stilled, body lulled to sleep by safety, warmth and Arthur's slow heartbeat, and he drifted off, the tiredness finally winning over the workings of his mind.

The next time Eames woke it was to coughing, Arthur near but clammy and soaked through with sweat. Oh goodness. Another nightmare. He shifted, making sure Arthur noticed him before running a hand along Arthur's shoulder, hoping it would do at least something to ground him. "The water is just by the edge if you need it," he stated, checking an involuntary yawn. Even after a night's sleep he still felt exhausted, very much like before when they first landed. But that had been when his shoulder was healing - he really must have aggravated it. It was draining him of energy he could otherwise use in retribution and much to his annoyance. Eames sat up, keeping his eyes and hands on Arthur, making sure he was calming down at least somewhat. It was useless to say it was just a dream, that much was obvious in the waking world.

"You should take the sleeping pills," were the first words out of Arthur's mouth after he had calmed down, lacking energy to do much but lay back down onto the mattress and taking a few deep breaths afterwards sitting up again and reaching for the water.

"What, why?" Eames frowned, propping himself up on his elbow. It was morning now and they should be getting up within the half hour anyway. "They aren't going to help me now, or do anything but knock me out, maybe, until dinner. If this is about what happened several hours ago, I really don't mind, Arthur, for godsakes." He watched Arthur drink before sitting up fully, turning off the alarm while he was thinking about it. "When else do we even have time to talk, anyway? Most of the day is filled up with work or we're too tired." He would be more worried if he was missing Arthur's distress than if he was woken up for a little bit every night. "Even forgot about giving you a shave last night."

"I didn't mean now, I just meant you should take advantage of them tonight," Arthur said, already up and about trying to get dressed.

"Hmm, that's going to be a no." Eames caught the socks Arthur threw at him before they landed gracelessly on his head, pushing the covers away so he could put them on. "You can take them if you'd like, I already have my sleeping pill." He maneuvered himself out of bed, sliding his feet into his boots before standing, casting about for a shirt. Something with buttons. "We have an extra half an hour. Would you like me to shave you, let you try once more or just forget about it completely?" He was fine with any and all of the above.

"Forget it," Arthur snapped, his back turned as he started yanking a shirt over his shoulders and buttoning it with obvious frustration. "The ship's almost fixed, I'll-" Arthur broke off, sitting down heavily on the bed. At least Arthur had dropped the issue with the pills. The point was to not have nightmares, not stay asleep the whole night through. And Eames wasn't having them, therefore it was more logical for Arthur to try them out instead of foisting them on Eames so he wouldn't wake him in his distress.

Eames sat down as well now that he was dressed, gently brushing their shoulders together. "It's still a couple days' flight from here to anywhere, so Rook regaining space worthiness isn't going to solve much. If you want something that I can do for you, it is really not a problem you know. There aren't exactly many resources available and it's fine to rely on other people. And when we do get to civilization, we'll figure the rest out, yeah?" He wondered if the words were even getting through - Arthur tended to ignore what he was saying until he was simply tired of repeating it over and over again so it would sink in. "It's not a problem," he tried one more time, lacing his fingers together in his lap, looking at them thoughtfully.

"That's easy for you to say," Arthur said with limited bitterness. He paused then, with an air of finality: "Yeah, I could use a shave. Do you want me in the chair?"

"Very funny," Eames said flatly before nodding. "The chair is fine." Arthur really seemed to have forgotten all the times Eames had been reduced to uselessness, feverish, in pain, unable to change his own bandages. The cold-warm compress was nothing to spit at either. No matter how many times Eames reminded him of it, Arthur always seemed to feel as though Eames was doing something out of the ordinary. It seemed useless to mention it again if Arthur was just going to ignore it as usual, so he got the shaving cream and washcloth out instead, handing both to Arthur before going to dig out the razor without upsetting everything else in the pile.

"Did Yusuf mention any side effects of the medication?" Arthur asked as Eames busied himself with the shaving cream.

"No, all he said was that they were ready. I was going to ask him about it but then got side tracked." Eames pocketed the razor for the time being, stooping to take the shaving cream and dab the brush into it, applying it lightly along Arthur's jaw and cheeks. "We can ask him later, right after this, probably." Shaving wouldn't take half an hour, after all. "Now relax, darling, you're still trembling slightly." He took the razor out, running his hand gently through Arthur's matted hair waiting until Arthur was ready.

"Any other brilliant observations?" Arthur quipped dryly, but began to settle, enough to at least push Eames' hand away.

"Well, actually..." Eames started, putting his hand back on Arthur's head, pulling the skin on his cheek taught, stroking the razor down along it. The pause stretched as he concentrated on not trembling either, or accidentally applying any pressure. He had to curve his back to see what he was doing, tucking his chin to his collar. "As a matter of fact..." He wiped the blade on the towel, getting a little bit of confidence in talking while he was shaving, stretching Arthur's skin gently as he did so. "It's not so much an observation for now as the first time we did this. It took quite a large part of my self control to resist the urge to kiss you silly, although you were taught as a string then, too." Eames wiped the blade again, smiling lightly.

Arthur knit his brow. "You would have ended up with foam everywhere."

"Like it would have mattered. I was mostly concerned with potentially scarring you, you were so nervous and I was going to be pushing myself onto you for all I knew." What a good distraction. Perhaps he could get Arthur to forget all about the nervousness - it was working already. Eames grinned, pressing his finger to Arthur's lips, bending to carefully stroke the razor down the upper one. "Split between making it a more pleasant experience or messing up completely, I was hesitant to take that risk."

Arthur seemed to be distracted enough to relax, or maybe it was the image of Eames covered in shaving cream that did it but Eames could only be happy that it worked. He filled the rest of the short time with humming, the tune that he had started the other night starting to take form. Why Arthur imagined this would be a burden on Eames was unfathomable, since he enjoyed it immensely and was only happy to oblige. "And you're all done now," Eames stated, dabbing the small bits of cream with the washcloth before stooping down to press a kiss to the corner of Arthur's lips, just for the sake of it.

Arthur smiled and pressed back gently before pulling back, some troubling thought probably crossing his mind. "Do you think Yusuf is awake?"

And back to business. Arthur should smile more often, Eames decided, whether fully or just with his lips it didn't matter. It was much better than his serious face - he tweaked Arthur's nose because he could. Arthur only gave him his sternest look in response. "Probably. It's drawing closer to breakfast time, although he never does join the rest of the folk to eat, watching whatever it is boil." Eames tossed the towel near the sink, stretching his back somewhat. His shoulder twinged at the exertion but he ignored it as usual - if he didn't move it, all it did was ache so he didn't need to take any pills for now.

"Do you want to head over?"

"That'd probably be best," Eames agreed, heading over to wash his face and brush his teeth, then step away to give Arthur the same opportunity. He couldn't say he was exactly looking forward to working but he was hungry, so perhaps breakfast would fix him up for something of a day's worth of work. "How's your stomach feeling?" he asked, putting the wash cloth back down and straightening the collar of his shirt, making sure it wasn't tucked in uncomfortably.

"About as good as my head." Which wasn't very good.

"Probably something you best mention," Eames said pointedly, already ducking under the flap on his way to Yusuf's makeshift home and knocking on the door as soon as Arthur caught up.

"Good morning both. Arthur, how are you feeling? Out and about I see, at the very least." Yusuf stepped inward, letting them through and taking a seat near his experiments. It probably wasn't necessary but it saved them from standing awkwardly in the doorway.

The place was largely cluttered, aside from where Yusuf kept his assortment of medicines and compounds. "Fine," Arthur answered, "I wanted to ask more about the sleep aid, if you could elaborate on some of the specifics."

"By fine he means his head still hurts and he's having problems eating," Eames put in, exasperated. "But yes, if Arthur means to take them, is there something we should know?"

Arthur shot Eames a dirty look as Yusuf inclined his head, turning to his salvaged desk and sifting through an assortment of rattling pills. Eames simply crossed his arms. If Arthur wasn't going to fess up about his health he would and _did_ do it for him.

"Headaches aren't uncommon, that's what the ibuprofen is for. Admittedly I was hoping that would clear sooner rather than later, but it's nothing to be concerned over," Yusuf explained, "can you tell me a bit more about your issues with eating?"

"It's nausea," Arthur answered quickly. Yusuf nodded and selected a bottle, counting out a few in his palm and transferring them to an empty bottle which he passed off to Arthur.

"That should help settle your stomach; if it doesn't, see me." Yusuf said, then added, "I wouldn't recommend a sedative that strong yet, but you do need sleep, at the very least bedrest. Eames, how badly do you need Arthur working on the ship?"

"Not particularly. Most of the repairs are either minor or something that only one person can do." It would be slower going on finishing the facing but it was nothing he couldn't help with in Arthur's stead. "You'll have time to help yet, I'm sure. I doubt it will be done in just two days."

"Perfect," Yusuf said with a smile, "and once we're sure the concussion has healed, you can head back out."

"Fine," Arthur said, and left without so much as a nod in parting, his hand clenched tightly around the medication a storm cloud all but trailing at his heels.

"Oh, for- Thank you, Yusuf," he said, before following Arthur out, exasperated. It wasn't as big a deal as Arthur was making it and had he been more honest with Eames he probably would have sat out the day before and then could have easily helped out with rebuilding now. "Arthur!" Eames called, halfway angry - this was stupid. He would babysit Arthur and let Ariadne and Isaac work by themselves if that was what it took because his health was more important than his paranoia or fixing the ship in a timely fashion. They didn't even have a deadline, certainly not if they could only roughly estimate the orbit of the planet.

Arthur stopped walking, allowing Eames to catch up, before demanding an icy, "What? I said fine, I'll stay here."

"Look. I'm sorry that we're coddling you but I just want you to get better." Eames sighed, running his hand across Arthur's shoulders but Arthur stepped away quickly. Eames hoped it had something to do with being out in the open. "If it will help you forgive me I can even stay with you today, like you stayed with me."

"Yeah, I get that, which is why I agreed to stay. But I'm not happy about it, and I don't need to be, so can you _back off_?" Arthur said, voice low to avoid attracting attention.

Eames frowned and put his hovering hand down, putting it in his pocket just in case. So maybe he did feel guilty but it was for Arthur's sake. He hadn't been eating, he'd barely been sleeping apparently. Eames had only been doing what was right. "If you get that, you shouldn't be so upset by it. You get time to do the research you love to do - for instance double check what you were looking up the other night, if you've forgotten anything important, or see if you could find an estimate for the orbit of this rock so we can have some what of a deadline. Everything always goes quicker with deadlines, not that we aren't taking off if we miss it. Point being, you shouldn't be upset by it or feel purposeless just because you need rest."

And there - that was Arthur shutting down.

Fuck, he'd said something off. All Arthur gave him was a disgusted look and stalked away, making a beeline for the tent. All he had been trying to do was point out the brighter side, the fact that just because Arthur had to stay behind he wasn't being sidelined. Breakfast could wait, even though he was hungry, this was more important than his stomach. "Arthur, come on," came out as a desperate whine, as he followed him into the tent, wishing he could take back whatever he'd said. "Please don't be upset, I'm sorry, I was just trying to make you feel better about it."

"Could you fucking drop it?" Arthur demanded as he shoved the flap aside, letting it fall in Eames' face.

"I'm not going to drop it-" Eames ducked under the flap, sneezing as the dust cascaded from it in retribution for such harsh treatment, and stopped shortly near the entrance, folding his arms. "If you're upset at me then yell at me, hit me, I don't care, but work it out. Tell me what I did wrong so I can make it up to you. Stomping away in a huff doesn't help and I would know." Not to mention he would be upset the whole day as well, wondering where he had gone wrong and by the time he got back from Rook it would be too late to sort anything out, the real reason behind the remaining anger forgotten. It wasn't a good way to go about things.

"It's not just you," Arthur said slowly. "it's... everything. My entire life..." he turned his head toward the ceiling, and took a deep breath before finally taking a seat on the bed, "it's just gone." The words were strained and choked, "I have-- nothing, and the only thing I can offer you is help, and now I can't even do that. And everything I thought about Dom and Mal... it feels like I lost them, all over again." The sorrow turned to anger, distaste highlighting the words, "And you stood there and tried to tell me I shouldn't be upset. Guess what. There are a lot of things that shouldn't fucking upset me, pointing them out doesn't help. And I don't care how gently you meant it, but I have heard that shit from so many people that I started to believe it... and then, you started acting like it was okay for me to be... that it wasn't wrong for me to be upset, and then you pulled this - this one-eighty on me. Fuck you, Eames. I don't want to be stuck here trying to recover from injuries that I fucking let happen, because I was too... Just. Fuck you."

"It _is_ okay for you to be upset! For chissakes, it is, but you can't expect me to not try and make it better somehow. I'm not trying to invalidate your feelings here, darling, you just need to talk to me - I wasn't expecting you to be happy about it, but there's no way I could have known you're upset about such global things, not just staying in bed for a day." He couldn't even answer with the proper anger, just sadness and helplessness stemming from how he'd tried to make it better but failed enormously. And even now, when Arthur had told him what was wrong, he couldn't see any way to help through the minefield of missteps that he could be making. There was nothing to even say - there was no way anything could make loss of loved ones any better as much as he would like to, he knew that much.

Disgust twisted Arthur's features, and he immediately rose to his feet, crowding Eames' space. "I didn't expect you to know! I expected you to back the fuck off and let me deal with my shit! And don't you dare pull that sorry ass tone of voice with me because I didn't pat you on the fucking head for your blatant disregard of what I said I wanted. And if you went into this thinking you could fix me, _God_ , I don't even want to look at you!"

"I don't-" He hadn't meant any of it and Arthur had a knack for confusing him and implying things that Eames had never meant but could have been interpreted that way. He raised his hands, taking half a step back - he wasn't going to fight. "I don't want to fix you. But I don't want to leave you to it either, that hasn't turned out well in the past, now has it? And I said I'll be there didn't I? So I will, even if you don't want to look at me or listen to me or anything but I'm putting my foot down about being here for you, need me or not."

"Are you fucking serious?" Arthur spat, "I'll tell you I was a lot fucking better back then than I am now, you, 一块 马粪! Everything was fucking fine until you showed up! Fuck you, you repulsive piece of shit!"

Eames shook his head, not moving from the entrance as Arthur tried to storm past him. It hurt but he was curbing it. He didn't want to just leave it like this but Arthur was not going to respond to anything he said now. "No, I'll go. Stay. Get better. I'll be back around dinner." He turned, moving the flap away to walk out into the sun. It would be easier in time, perhaps, but there was clearly nothing he could do now.

At the very least, he had avoided getting angry. Arthur had been looking for a fight and Eames had made sure not to give him one. If he could only do something about the way the words he knew meant nothing still hurt. Not to mention he still didn't know where he had gone wrong. All he'd tried was a suggestion, a bright side to staying pent up and not doing the more urgent, hands on work. Did that count as controlling? He remembered other instances where he'd said almost the same thing and all he got was an exasperated nudge and 'alright, alright, I know.' Was he supposed to let Arthur be upset until the issue resolved itself on its own? Perhaps he was stepping in too close, he'd inadvertently inflated the argument to unprecedented levels - Arthur hadn't been that upset in the first place, if he had been rather rude. Well now he knew, Eames supposed, automatically explaining the situation in vague terms to Ariadne and Isaac before belatedly remembering breakfast. Ah, he wasn't exactly in the mood.

The day passed mostly uneventfully, and he managed to finish most of the facing although his shoulder had started up an accompanying whine. And if Ariadne noticed he was perhaps less talkative than usual, she chalked it up to the heat and exhaustion as well as the fact that Arthur wasn't there. Isaac filled in most of the pauses anyway, one or two questions all that needed for the white noise of his voice to go on for a half hour at least. And when he was at least vaguely paying attention, he found he liked the guy well enough, dullness aside.But he was only glad to put a little distance between them as they rolled back into town, ready for something a bit more quiet.

A cursory check didn't find Arthur in the kitchens or the tent, but all the dirty clothes had disappeared, suggesting that Arthur had busied himself with laundry. Unless, of course, he'd decided on a strange form of anger that involved burning all of Eames clothes but those were also Arthur's now, so he severely doubted that was the case. Eames joined the line for dinner instead, not really expecting Arthur to show up for it but grabbing another plate just in case, chatting amicably with Ariadne as they ate. The fact that he'd skipped breakfast had come back to bite him in the end, but dinner was filling enough that he could forget about it, satisfied at least to the point where he didn't feel the hunger.

"Is that Isaac's?"

Eames looked up to see Arthur hovering near his shoulder. Ariadne smiled at him. And here he'd told her Arthur probably wasn't going to show… "Nope, that's yours, if you'd like it," Eames stated, inspecting his plate for something to say. Not in front of Ariadne of course, although it wouldn't change much but make the potential argument or apology public. Arthur didn't seem to be looking for a fight anymore at the very least. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Arthur admitted as he took the empty seat and pulled the plate closer. "How's your shoulder?" There was still a nervous energy around him as he prodded at the unseasoned beans that were dinner.

"Tired," Eames mimicked before adding on: "and somewhat in pain. Nothing new." He might as well lead by example, although he could only hope that Arthur was actually simply tired. He still wasn't eating much but hopefully Yusuf had made sure he'd gotten some food during the day - there had been a reason Eames had said something, after all. "The facing is mostly done, at least and - what did you say about the glass?"

"It should be good enough to be fitted by tomorrow," Ariadne put in readily. "It went faster than anticipated, the heat probably helped the sander along. And Isaac said he had maybe another day or two's work. Hopefully we can take off within the week." Eames would like to do a test flight, break the atmosphere at least, but he wasn't sure if the already taxed metal could handle an extra load like that. Hopefully it would be fine. Hope was really all they had.

"Speaking of which, I found a few hypothesized orbit patterns. I'd like to make sure we have something to compare Rook's navigation against before we take off," Arthur said.

"We can try," Eames nodded, already in the process of recalling where the worlds had been the night he'd wandered off. Hopefully now they would have something to compare those positions to, and although he'd rather have three points of data to go off of, it was better than going in blind.

He sighed as Arthur pushed his plate towards him with some excuse about dried fruit and nuts being back at the tent but stacked it on his own. There was no way he could eat it - whoever was in charge of the dishes probably enjoyed an extra plate every time, not to mention he almost lived the idea that Arthur would eat it at some later point in time. Food seemed to lose its appeal when Arthur refused it and he only ate enough to tide him over. One plate was enough.

"Uh, if you're not going to eat that, can I have it?" Ariadne asked and Eames chuckled.

"Go ahead, you'll have to bring the dishes back for it through." Eames slid the plates over to her side after she gave the affirmative.

"Do you want me to grab everything while you get in line?" Arthur offered.

"I suppose - have you already showered?" Arthur nodded, a touch of guilt about him. That worried him slightly, after all, it wasn't rest if Arthur had felt the need to shower at any point. Hopefully it had just been to skip the line. Arthur seemed to want to be on friendly terms. Maybe. Pressing could set him off once more. "I'll meet you there then."

Eames accepted the bag when Arthur brought it to his place in the line, split between asking Arthur to stay and wait for him and realizing the silliness of the request. Arthur should be resting now, if he hadn't during the day. "I'll meet you back at the tent," he ventured instead, assuming that was what Arthur wanted to do in the first place. "We'll catch up then."

It didn't take Eames long to shower although the line was a fair length. At least, it had passed quickly with all the questions he had to field as soon as he mentioned anything about Rook and their plans for take off, including some volunteered calculations about the theoretical orbit of the planet. Those would be his third points, he supposed, accepting the paper that had to be run from one of the tents back to the showers while he washed himself. The orbital distance didn't look accurate since even knowledgeable pilots didn't tend to fare well crashlanding, but the rest look useable enough.

Giving his thanks, he headed back to the tent, still looking over the papers. It had lightened his mood somewhat and he tossed them onto Arthur's knees as he walked in, putting the bag down second. "We've got a bit more positions to go on from this." Arthur put the pad and a bag of food that did in fact exist aside in favor of collecting the paper and reading over it.

"This helps narrow things down," he said reaching for the pad once he got his bearings, "the math itself looks good, do we know where they got their numbers?"

"I'm fairly certain the distances are wrong - I think he started attempting to measure the distance from Kalidasa first, since that was the port of origin. We're orbiting the white star however, so it's really just the positions of the planets that are useful, which are fortunately several months old." A sigh and Eames sat down on the edge of the bed. In any case, they would have to wait for the said star to set somewhat, although the major systems were already bright in the sky even during the sunset. "What did you get up to today?" he asked, propping his chin up on his palm, changing the topic. They still had some time to talk.

"This," Arthur answered, gesturing to the papers, "Learning the math that is. I don't do much navigation. It's a lot to learn in a few hours. Did the laundry." His eyes remained on the screen and he was quiet for a moment. "I went for a jog, talked to Yusuf. He said the irritability is normal, but... I should have realized..." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "I overreacted, but when I tell you to back off it means I need you to stop. I don't care if you meant to anger me or not, the point is that you did, and when I told you to stop... you didn't. I wasn't asking you to be a mind reader, I was telling you to leave it alone."

Eames sighed, not even bothering to ask how long the jog had been. The bag of mix suggested that it went for far too long, enough to raise the otherwise typically busy Yusuf's attention. He could point that out, he could point out the fact that Arthur had said back off in a way that had implied that he just wanted to remain stewing in his own annoyance or that Arthur had been left to deal with it on his own for several years now and here they still were but that wasn't the point. It wasn't untrue that Eames had overstepped, Arthur had asked to leave him be but he didn't. He pressed his folded hands to his lips.

"I worry about you," he said instead, because that much was true. "You're not eating, you're not sleeping, you don't tell me anything about it and I'm left to figure it out through context clues. That leads me to try and press you for information or guess at what's wrong, so I can somehow help and it's hard to realize that I can't or you don't need me to. I'm sorry I pressed," he sighed, apologizing once more, for good measure, "but you do realize that 'no, leave me alone' isn't a particularly placating answer, don't you? I suppose I'll be forced to take it next time, but I'm not going to be happy doing so."

Arthur was tense but not overly, not coiled and ready to fight or run as he had been before. "Well, it's not like anything has changed. Do you want me to keep talking about it? Because I've already said what I need to. You know what happened on the abandoned ship, you know the Alliance is after me, and you were there on that fucking wreck with the Reavers. It's a safe bet one of those things is on my mind."

"You don't have to, although I'm more than willing to listen if you need me to. But simply explaining that you need space and time, that you'd rather not go into it but this is what's going on - 狗屎, Arthur, you were angry about staying in bed, it was a little bit hard to connect any of it." Eames huffed before instantly regretting what he'd just said. It wasn't about him, he needed to let Arthur go, let him be in charge of what was going on with himself.

The only problem was meshing that with being there, not becoming too distant. He wasn't sure that Arthur would come to him - Arthur didn't consider missing meals and hours of sleep as problems, not enough to talk about them, not to Eames and not even to Yusuf. "Sorry... It's fine. I'll let you be the next time you tell me so." He should just leave it, at least for now. There was no helping it, he might as well just be more vigilant than expect Arthur to simply tell him. But was it that much to ask? Then again, he wasn't exactly forthcoming about his own aches and pains, mostly because they were the same every day, if ranging in magnitude. Standing, he grabbed the bottle of painkillers, taking one before putting it back down and distracting himself by lifting the flap to check the brightness of the sky. He was surprised when Arthur stood to join him.

"The dream, the one with you," Arthur said after several moments of silence, moving in to stand closer than necessary. Another pause, shorter, but palpable, "You came into my office, watching everyone else working, and then you tutted and asked me to go along with you." A smile pulled at the corners, "You asked me to be childish, and then you suggested we get adult."

"That is strange indeed," Eames agreed, sighing and dropping the flap in favor of wrapping his arm around Arthur's waist instead. Arthur's smile brightened and Eames could only lean against him, happy to have put it there. Hopefully this was Arthur's way of saying he was forgiven, which would have to be enough, even if he felt that he made no steps forward. He couldn't expect to, it seemed, and perhaps it was better to give it up. At least for now, the situation wasn't worth continuing to be upset or having spent the whole day in less than a generally buoyant state, either.

Too tired to actively rise to the bait, he smiled instead, resting a fraction of his weight on Arthur, mostly because he could. "And when was this?" General curiosity and a change in topic, it was easier to just stand like this, together, rather than at odds. It was easier and palpably warmer, even though rivulets from his damp hair had ceased rolling down his neck.

"After we came back from the woods," Arthur admitted, "it wasn't why I wanted to try... it's just. I wasn't fine. I thought I was, but I wasn't. I wasn't happy, there were so many things I never even realized I was avoiding. And now - it hurts, but, differently. I can picture Mal without feeling anything in my knee. And, I never... when I found out about my parents, when I found out about Dom, I didn't - I never grieved. I just, I kept going. I thought it would get better, but I was... I was just running away."

"You've helped me realize that, and it never seems to matter what I say or do, or don't do, but you're always there. Not because it's your job, not because you pity me, because if it was about pity you'd have left a long time ago. I've had people pity me, the second they realize you aren't getting better and that you don't appreciate them they're out the door." And that part was bitter, though it clearly wasn't directed at Eames, "It's just hard for me, I've never felt like I owed someone so much. And it's not because you've asked for anything," he tacked on before Eames could interject that he didn't expect anything, "I just wish I could show you it does mean something, that even though I get mad, I-" Arthur cut himself off, closing his mouth and almost fighting to keep his posture relaxed under Eames' hands.

Eames let it be a little, it was obviously difficult for Arthur to put it into words, the way his eloquence broke down evidence enough of it. It was more honest and put him at ease: perhaps he'd simply been rushing, that Arthur would talk but not just right now. It was heartening and quietening at the same time. There wasn't much he could say, either. Everything he could was something Arthur had probably heard from a psychologist or someone else - grief is natural and not shameful, running was little help and things only came back to haunt or bite you. He was certain Arthur knew that much and repeating it wouldn't help him in the slightest. So he would simply listen instead.

He sighed softly, running his thumb along the bit of shirt it could reach. "That's funny. Because you are getting better, just by what you just told me. And I know you appreciate it, although you tend to show it in strange ways. Everyone gets angry, Arthur, at one point or another, but that doesn't mean they believe a word they say, not completely nor for long. That you forgive me in the end is all that matters, really." That he would forgive Arthur was hardly even a question, complain and sulk as he might.

"I shouldn't have said it, angry or not. You didn't deserve it," Arthur said quietly before shifting away to lift the flap and check the brightness of the sky once more. It looked like the conversation was over.

It looked dark enough and he could really do with some sleep some time soon. Grabbing the papers from the bed, he flipped through them once more before figuring they should take the lantern as well. And they didn't even need to go far, most of the lights that were on inside tents and not obstructive in the least. "Should be time now," he nodded, waiting for Arthur to step out. Close to the time when he'd first looked, as well, which was helpful.

Without the obstruction of trees, the night sky was clear, free of even clouds which shouldn't have been as surprising as it was. The previous time they had been too focussed on not tripping to appreciate it fully. "We should be able to see the Georgia system, that should be the best indication of where we are," Arthur said, flexing his newly learned navigational knowledge.

"Mmm," Eames agreed noncommittally, busy with the data written on the sheets of paper. It would be easier if they were on a pad and he didn't have to use the lantern, but he could deal, balancing the light on this shoulder in order to see and make an inventory of the planets and stars of the 'Verse above them. Lux did not feature on the list of night sky objects, confirming that they hadn't accidentally turned around and were, in fact, outside of the Halo. He hadn't quite kept the best track of the amount of suns that traversed the sky although he remembered noticing a subtle doubling of the shadows when he had been exiled to read outside the ship, 秦始皇 orbiting close enough to the White Sun for it not to make much of a difference where it was. Christ, he must be tired if he couldn't even manage to notice that much. But it hadn't really been important before and just a confirmation was good enough now. That was all that was visible in the daytime however, the atmosphere thick enough to even obscure the Halo which was easily visible now, an asteroid streaking across the sky every so often.

Georgia was easily visible indeed, taking up a good several degrees and echoing uncomfortably of home. Seemed that they had managed to stay with the system instead of following the Red Sun which was stationed on the other side, invisible behind the light of the White. It looked as though they were taking off during the daytime if they were hoping to use the gravity of the rock to help with fuel economy. Kalidasa had already migrated a full twenty degrees west, currently in the process of getting ready to set behind the roof of the kitchens. "Looks like we're all but locked in orbit with Georgia. A bit irregular since Kalidasa has a habit of pulling the rock along faster when it gets close, but since it hasn't moved from very far from it's place in Eridanus for the last several months, it looks like your theorist was correct."

"That would make Hera our best choice, it's the closest planet with certified maintenance options," Arthur said, glancing up from the pad, "unless you want to wait a few weeks, months."

"We'll starve: it's the end of crash season. And Ariadne'll be upset, although I'm not sure which would be worse. There's no point in waiting." He'd decided on it a while ago, not to mention there was no place he could actually afford the repairs other than Hera, where he could almost certainly pull several overdue favors. "It's quite alright, I'm sure I'll live," he sighed, shaking his head.

"Is there anything I should know? I might be able to clear charges against you if you don't have an alias to use," Arthur offered.

"Nah. The model of the ship will have us landlocked until further notice. It's nothing legal, anyway, just, you know, my dad." Arthur wouldn't know, exactly, but he didn't feel like elaborating. "I was warned ahead of time that he was looking out for me, I doubt he's given up yet." Sure it had been around five years but giving up wasn't exactly in the Eamesian nature. Eames shook his head once more, turning to duck back into the tent. Oh and he was so looking forward to the reaction when good old pa laid eyes on the damages to Rook. There was at least a chance of delaying the confrontation, mostly by hiding, but probably not for long if he needed to get the ship repaired.

"Why would he go as far as landlocking your ship? Do mechanics on Hera have that much authority on private vessels?" Arthur asked as he followed him inside.

"Like he doesn't have friends. It's a busy port but still a small enough community where everyone knows everyone else. And if the ship's falling apart, which it sort of is, no one in their right mind is actually going to let us take off again, even if the landing wasn't rigged from the start. The fact that we're related helps negate the whole private vessel business anyway." Both Eames, as well, not that anyone would ever get them confused. A delinquent son was easily separate from the parent that way. He sat instead of continuing, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling off his boots, getting ready for bed.

Arthur started to undress as well but that only stopped the prodding for a little bit less than a minute. "Why are you avoiding him?"

"Because," Eames sighed, tossing the blanket away so he could get into bed, relaxing on his stomach with a sigh. He'd probably end up turning towards Arthur later, but the support for his shoulder didn't go amiss for now. "We aren't on the best of terms. And there's only so much failure talk I can listen to." So maybe he was working mostly with understatements but he didn't quite feel up to explaining the whole situation. It was a long story, from bad to worse, and made little sense when he summarized it. "Not there for the family, didn't try hard enough to save mom, don't do enough with the education I've gotten, abandoned the family business. You know, _stuff_." He shifted, lifting his head to shut off the lamp and hoping that was enough of an explanation for the topic to be closed.

"How much education do you actually have?" Arthur asked from the darkness, mattress dipping under his weight as he crawled into bed and Eames let his eyes close in relief. At least the topic of his dad was closed.

"Uh, high school? No need for higher learning if your highest hopes are to be mechanic. The several years before the war were spent learning the trade, because why go to school if someone knew what you were supposed to be learning just as well." Eames'd been a bit bitter about that, not to mention had he gone to school, he could have avoided being in the war, but no one could have foreseen that, specifically. "That and the school of the streets and here we are now on an interplanetary level of thievery." He yawned, managing to sound bitter about it.

Arthur was quiet after that. Eames gave himself several minutes of acceptable brooding before sighing once more, turning his head and rolling onto his side, tucking his arm under the pillow. "Are you going to sleep or are you planning on not even trying?" There wasn't much he could do if Arthur didn't want to sleep, the same as when he refused to eat. Arthur had managed a good amount of shut eye the night before and Eames was prepared to let this night slide but he would like to at least know. That and Arthur seemed hesitant for one reason or another, even in the darkened room. That and Arthur slept on his side. That he was on his back at the moment was a dead give away.

"I'll be able to sleep once Yusuf clears me for sedatives, until then..." Arthur gave up pretense and reached for the pad. "Go ahead and sleep."

A frown, one that could probably be seen clearly in even the dim light of the pad. It was understandable, he supposed, no one could want to go back to the nightmares that were waiting in the dark, even if they didn't send him rocketing out of bed like they did for him. "Alright, well, don't over do it," he allowed, rolling off his left shoulder to throw his right across Arthur's waist, closing his eyes. He could say it would help him sleep but in all reality it was already a habit, their cuddling. And habits, especially the nicer ones, were hard to break.

Arthur settled, sinking into the mattress. "... I'll wake you if I need you."

\----

Eames remained mostly dead to the world while it was dark, exhaustion and warmth shutting down any dream that his brain might even think to invent. Closer to morning he drifted a little bit closer towards consciousness, greeted by old friends of a worrisome abstract nature, faces rising out of a sea of color. Disconnected phrases manifested themselves, mostly uttered by his father, someplace near. _Dreams_ , he thought, _always grabbing on to the least pleasant thing they can_. It shattered and transformed into a field, which was at least one thing he could do but no where it counted. And it always woke him, with a bit of a start. Eames lifted his head, propping himself up on his left hand and blinking rapidly into the semi darkness. Was Arthur still working? Good grief... He plopped his head back down onto the pillow, turning to his side and shifting close, pressing his forehead into Arthur's side, not caring if he jostled him. "Is this already or still?"

"Which answer worries you less?" Arthur parried. "You've got a while, if you want a little more sleep."

"So I should be worried, but shouldn't be because it's okay, I guess is what you're saying," Eames sighed, exaggerating it and pressing his face into Arthur so he wouldn't see any light. He did want more sleep but he doubted he'd really be able to get it, completely disregarding the fact that he was already drifting off once more. "So for you to sleep, you have to be tired, I'm assuming?" he asked fuzzily, brain still working if his eyes refused to.

Arthur dropped his head on top of Eames'. "I am tired."

"Not tired enough, clearly," Eames yawned into Arthur's neck, before gently pinching some skin between his lips, licking at it. Not enough to leave a bruise but clearly meant to tease and Arthur gasped softly. Good. "Or, what's it called, relaxed. Just me asking if you were even planning on it had you wound tighter than a 8 day clock. Are you going to be alright during the day time?" Right now didn't qualify as day time and his own three hour nap schedule had only worked because he had most of his time to himself and because he took them often.

"There's work to do," was his answer.

"No, there's not," Eames mumbled, letting the piece of skin he was worrying now go in favor of talking. "Not anything more than usual anyways. Only've got one of everything." Although he should probably work on reinforcing the solder from the inside as well, even if all he had were the electric fusion strips. And while there wasn't much, there was at least enough for the more important bits. "How's your head feeling anyway, besides probably thoroughly overused?" Gods how was he still so constantly tired? He couldn't remember a precedent for this - it was therefore either the planet, the food or the wound, or some combination of all three.

"Headache," Arthur answered, the words slightly slurred, "but it's'ot so'bad." He shifted, clearly annoyed with himself. "And it's not over used," he said enunciating each syllable with care, "I'm fine."

"Uhm, you sat up staring at a screen all night, and you have a concussion still and now you're even slurring. I'm wagering you're lying somewhat." He couldn't even find it in himself to be put off by it, mostly because he hadn't been expecting anything different. Reaching up, he ran his fingers around Arthur's ear, brushing hair away from his face. "If you're not going to sleep you can at least rest your eyes for a bit."

Arthur let the pad fall to his chest. "Stop mothering me," he snapped, then rose quickly to stand.

"Mmkay." Eames rolled over somewhat onto the spot where Arthur had been, letting his full weight drop onto the mattress with a yawn. He was in no way ready for the day and if Arthur wanted to get up he was all but welcome to it. Frankly, most of his reasons for pointing anything out was because he wasn't awake enough for anything but observations and it was easy enough to fall into a bit of a nap even as Arthur moved about.

"Don't hurt yourself..." Eames mumbled, mostly in response to the sound of jerky movement and frustrated noises. Arthur seemed to be trying to force himself awake. Maybe he would reconsider and come back to bed. An hour wouldn't hurt and maybe then he'd be awake enough to actually do things, he surmised. Just an hour, before any of the nightmares found their way to bothering him. Arthur wasn't going to get very far in an hour if he didn't decide to humour Eames with a lie in and they wouldn't dare leave without him. He hoped so at least but the doubt faded in favor of his mind simply shutting off.

An hour came and went and Eames was still asleep, his body refusing to wake up and his mind giving no signs of starting by itself either. Arthur's warmth had vanished completely from the bedding and he could hear very little, the noises of breakfast too tinny and far away to be heard. The odd creaking metal of Yusuf's home didn't help and the overall lack of sound disturbed him, even though he didn't dream.

The next half hour had rested him enough to sit up abruptly, as if from a dream but without the memory of one. The only thought in his head was that everyone was gone. Dust in the wind. Dead.

No. He was still in the same place, although the lack of anyone around was frightening. No. It was fine. Arthur had wandered off somewhere and everyone else had no reason to be anything but alive. If he strained he could hear the murmur of voices of folk getting in line for breakfast. It was alright. A soft groan and he carded his fingers through his hair, trying to calm frayed nerves. It hadn't been this bad for ages, the emptiness of his ship had slowly grown on him after a while. Arthur had replaced it far too easily.

Still the worry wouldn't leave him and Eames grabbed a shirt, resolving to brush his teeth after breakfast. He should find Arthur first. It shouldn't be hard, he couldn't have gone far, and even if he didn't want to eat, breakfast was still a thing you did, regardless. Or at least he thought so. Yet Arthur wasn't in the breakfast line or anywhere near the kitchens. Eames tried Yusuf's place but the chemist simply shrugged and directed him towards a path. A jog? Good grief, Eames barely had the energy to walk, how Arthur had managed a jog was beyond any and all of his understanding.

Apparently Arthur hadn't gone far, since right now he was resting - or was he sleeping? - propped up against a tree just around the bend. At least Eames didn't need to jog to find him. This was some sort of habit they both shared it seemed, sleeping in woods. A sigh and he sat down nearby, as quietly as possible. If Arthur didn't wake up any time soon he'd go grab a pillow or a blanket and perhaps that bag of mix - he wasn't planning on waking him up, certainly. So much for 'I'm fine'.

As it stood, there was nothing he could do but sit and worry. Even nightmare riddled sleep was sleep and how long had Arthur avoided it? He couldn't even say because Arthur's warmth made him wink out like a light and unless there was something drastic... But even his helpless anger didn't stop him from drifting off and the next thing he knew he was startled awake by more high pitched whining. No - more nightmares? Arthur was going to hurt himself like this. It was ridiculous, Arthur couldn't get better without sleep and he couldn't take the sleeping aids until he got better. The less sleep Arthur got the faster he plunged into REM when he did, Eames remembered that much from what he was told. "Ssh, hey, whoah," he tried, carefully crouching and trying not to restrain Arthur too much, just holding on to one wrist. The humming had worked before and he he tried it once more but didn't try to wake Arthur, just soothe him, resolutely keeping calm and making sure Arthur didn't hit himself or Eames either. Would perhaps half the dose be better than none? Then again, he had no idea what the drugs did, never mind what would happen if you only took half.

Arthur struggled to pull away, scrambling and shoving at Eames, falling to the ground but unable to process anything beyond his intense need to get away. The noise didn't cease, but his eyes opened, staring vacantly at nothing in terror. Shit, this was terrifying. But another few minutes and the noises became more intermittent, softening when the humming peaked at certain notes. Arthur blinked his eyes and searched the area wildly, trying to figure out where he was and what was going on. Thank god.

"Arthur, hey, it's me." Eames reached out, softly, trying not to startle. "You fell asleep in the woods." The scenery was probably quite jarring in itself and he tried to call Arthur's attention to himself. There was no way to be certain what it was Arthur needed - comfort or distance - so he stayed within arm's reach, waiting for Arthur to decide on his own.

"Fuck," Arthur said, slumping and pushing his hair back from his face while his chest expanded and fell rapidly, though it began to slow as he settled. "Did I... Did I hit you?" That had Arthur moving, sitting up and drawing near, as if Eames was going to shatter.

"No, I'm quite alright." He let Arthur near him, carefully brushing his outstretched hand on Arthur's shoulder, welcoming any contact Arthur would like. "I'm more concerned whether you hurt yourself, tossing around like that." Arthur had mentioned yelling and tossing before but seeing it was very different from just a story. He'd wait for Arthur to settle before continuing.

The reassurance didn't seem to be enough and Arthur ran his hands along Eames' face, down his neck and arms, hastily moving to unbutton his shirt to look for new bruises. "I'm fine, really," Eames tried to reassure one more time, sitting down as Arthur inspected him. It became amusing at some point, the way Arthur was touching him, reverently, like he was looking for cracks in porcelain or a windshield. He hardly deserved or even needed that sort of treatment but Arthur was spooked and he allowed it good-naturedly. "I'm fine, darling," he said once more, stroking gently down Arthur's back and raising his other hand to rest on Arthur's arm, legs folded in front of him. Who knew how long they would be staying here. "Not to fret. Every little piece is accounted for."

Arthur took a few deep breaths and let them out smooth and even as he let his arms fall away to run his hand over own his face instead. Another deep breath and he pushed himself to rise on shaky legs. "We should go," he said, trying his best to pretend this bout of terror hadn't happened, "you need breakfast as much as I do."

"We still have a little bit." Eames stood as well, placing his hand on the back of Arthur's neck, automatically stroking with his fingers. "You're sure you want to go to Rook?" he asked, taking a careful step closer, leaving his shirt be for now. The answer was almost certainly yes, but he felt the need to ask anyway, waiting for Arthur to stop shaking quite so obviously.

Arthur stilled, and his eyes fluttered shut. "We should talk to Yusuf first, shouldn't we?"

"Probably, yes." Eames let his hand fall, airily brushing along Arthur's back. "It'll still be a little until the windows are going to be ready to be put in - there's no need to push yourself till then, is that alright?" Arthur seemed to be less determined to be up and about, which, after a bout of narcolepsy in the woods, he supposed was reasonable. The way he was afraid he'd hit Eames, however... The amusement was long gone. "How far did you run?" he asked, buttoning his shirt but still watching for any waver in Arthur's stance, just in case.

"A few kilometers," Arthur answered, a little evasive, "I was on the way back." There was a little bit of a wobble in his step but not enough to warrant Eames' support.

"A few kilometers-" Eames sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not even attempting to come up with an answer. Instead he focused on trying to consider some alternative to actually working that would make Arthur happy. Letting him come to Rook and just sit in the shade was nonsense, staying with him would set them back, but not by much.

The walk back was short, even if it didn't feel that way, and Yusuf was easily spotted. Chatting with Morena it seemed; Eames wasn't certain if he should be worried or not. She left as soon she saw them however, squeezing Yusuf's shoulder lightly. It was then that Yusuf turned to face them more properly, assessing them both.

"Arthur, I will tranq you and set up an IV, I will rig it myself somehow, hand to god," he said, exasperated, "This isn't an option, get in bed, I will figure this out. You were supposed to be watching him, Eames! Did you find him like this or did you give him the black eyes?"

Arthur glared, but the weariness rendered it almost completely unthreatening. Eames didn't even grace that with an answer, just glared in Arthur's stead, the expression far more effective. The darkness under Arthur's eyes had been growing in spurts, and always in the direction of darker still. And even though tranquilizer sounded like a good idea, there was no way he was actually letting Yusuf go through with the half joking threat. Arthur could be convinced, he already was convinced in fact.

"I'm willing to stay if you need me. I won't get as much done without Arthur anyway, and we can go twice as fast once he's better, I'm certain." He wanted to ask how common his own fatigue was, if it was just his injury taking its toll or if it was the general state of everyone who landed at first. Certainly the town itself was rather lazy and they'd gone around to quite a number of sick beds when they'd first landed. So preoccupied with the ship and with Arthur, he hardly knew anything about a good part of people in the town, besides names and faces.

"I don't need you -" Arthur started, voice straining to remain even, but Yusuf was swift to cut him off.

"Eames, I wouldn't put you in charge of anything, you're just as exhausted." Yusuf held the tent flap for them both, apparently set on making sure they were inside and not just leaving through a secret exit. Wise, that. "Both of you, get some rest. I'll bring your food, and I'll be checking in on you. I don't want either of you going further than the restroom. Are we clear?"

"Doctor's orders," Eames half shrugged, hesitating by the door then ducking just outside to speak to Yusuf. "What about sleeping aids? Arthur is used to them for sleeping, which might be part of the problem. He does still have the headaches, although that might just be an overworked brain."

Yusuf glanced towards Arthur, already taking of his shoes and socks before climbing into bed. "Is it just trouble getting to sleep?" Yusuf asked, "Staying asleep? Actually, let him use yours. I can make more. I wouldn't recommend you both take them, just in case, but it should be fine for Arthur."

"Even with a concussion? What do they do exactly anyway, just in case? I don't remember if we ever got to speak about the side effects in general, not just regarding Arthur." Hopefully Yusuf knew, especially since he should have checked if they worked - while some drugs did keep him under, that wasn't a particularly pleasant experience, being unable to wake up from a nightmare you couldn't change. He was going to make sure they covered all the bases, his general mistrust of medication only suspended because he knew who was making it and why.

"Generally I'd rather him sleep on his own, but, all things considered..." Yusuf said lightly, and then he gladly launched into a discussion of his drug, "I haven't given it a name yet, but it's a modified zaleplon based pill, it'll get you to sleep fast and get you into that deep, dreamless sleep and keep you there for at least 6-8 hours. Almost completely bypasses REM sleep, which means sleep walking, sleep eating, night terrors are more likely to occur if he's prone to them, the first two probably aren't an issue if he's been on any sort of sleep aid before, but it's one of the reasons only one of you should take it at a time. There'll be some grogginess when he wakes up, but that's about the extent of it. The dose is a little high, but it'll mean it lasts longer. It's not enough to be a danger."

"I'll double check," Eames nodded, making sure to remember all of the information thoroughly. "Thank you, Yusuf." The doctor had been more than accommodating and that wasn't even counting inventing a whole new drug on account of them. "You've been extremely kind." He dodged a glance into the tent, still keeping the flap open. It wasn't exactly a secret conversation but Arthur seemed tired enough to ignore them, which spoke a good lot about how tired he really was. "And Ariadne? Does she know we're down for the count today?"

"I can let her know. She hasn't been sleeping well either: none of you have. I'll wait while you ask, if he needs something else, I have a few others. And it's really no trouble, like I said, before this I was a sleep specialist. It's a nice return." He glanced into the tent. Arthur did look ready to topple over. "Actually, see if he'll fall asleep on his own, if not, come and find me."

Nodding once more, Eames finally ducked into the tent, letting the flap fall behind him.

He sat on the bed, reaching out to run his knuckles gently along Arthur's jaw. Arthur pressed into the touch. "You mentioned sleeping aids before. Did they help with the nightmares?" At the same time Arthur had mentioned screaming back at the hospital and there seemed that the answer would be no.

"Not when I get like this. It just makes it easier to fall back asleep. You can tell him I was on a benzodiazepine." He said as he slouched against Eames. In a minute. Eames could tell Yusuf in a minute.

"Does zaleplon tell you anything? Yusuf said it's modified to be good for nightmares, but not if you have night terrors or sleepwalk or talk or eat, apparently." Eames knew enough about normal medicine, the sort you took to cure a disease and that had a market on the less well off planets, but this sort of thing, chemistry that altered brain state... "It bypasses REM so you wouldn't have nightmares, not so much as not remember them." Arthur had been worried about hitting him, which probably fed into that. "Straight into NREM sleep, accordingly."

"'M not a doctor, I just know what I was on," Arthur answered.

"Do you want to go try and sleep by yourself or go ask Yusuf for the benzodiazepine?"

Arthur mumbled the word, "Benzodiapine," even as he slumped against Eames. It looked like it was a yes even if it looked like Arthur was well on his way to sleep all on his own. Hopefully it wouldn't be as violent as last time and Eames carefully pushed Arthur away from himself and down, lengthways onto the bed, hovering gingerly. "Alright, I'll go ask, do try and sleep though." Arthur was making him sleepy, too, but he stood, watching Arthur for a minute. If anything, he shouldn't take long enough for any sort of nightmare to take hold, so stepping out shouldn't be too dangerous. He ducked past the flap, keeping up a quick pace to Yusuf's, starting almost immediately after poking his head into the open door. "He said he usually took benzodiapine. And when I found him... Well, he has a history of lashing out during dreams, I can't say why or how."

"Benzodiapine?" Yusuf asked with no small measure of disbelief and disgust. Eames took that as a bad sign. "Would I have my way they'd have banned it as soon as they discovered it. And this is a time for specifics," he added, rising from his workstation to speak more properly with Eames, immediately launching into quizzing him on what sleep state Arthur had been in. They were far too difficult for him to answer with any measure of certainty. REM behaviour disorder that could have been an effect from the prolonged use of benzodiapine? It all ended with the fact that Eames couldn't say if Arthur's eyes were moving or not and then Eames getting his shoulder scanned for infection again as soon as he mentioned being tired.

By the time they got back to the tent - because Eames' observations were not enough for Yusuf to go on - Arthur was having another episode. God, something had to be done. At least the humming worked and Arthur woke, groggy and disoriented but not frightened out of his wits like the first time. Yusuf gave the RBD prognosis then and there, handing Arthur a pill, a half glass of water and a strict order for both of them to stay inside the tent at all times once more.

Eames huffed but obediently clambered into bed, careful to keep a little bit more space between them while Yusuf was watching. Which was hard, because all he wanted was to kiss and comfort, not for the first time. He hadn't mentioned he hadn't had breakfast, but he supposed he could live without it, especially if he wasn't moving for the whole day. Only belatedly did he realize he'd left his shirt on, something that would be killer as soon as the tent heated up in the light of the sun, and sat up to be rid of it, easing back down immediately after.

"Sorry," he apologized reflexively as soon as Yusuf made himself scarce, reaching out to touch Arthur's shoulder. "We were still talking when you had the nightmare and it'd better he knows what's going on." There was no shame in it, not as far as he could see and Yusuf was the only doctor, even if their relationship was strained, hopefully less so these days, that didn't change anything.

Arthur flinched but settled quickly. "So I didn't hit you?" he mumbled, turning over to see for himself. Eames didn't bother answering. It was still a no. "What's RBD?"

Eames shuffled a little bit closer, more comfortable horizontal than standing, not surprisingly. "And I'm not sure, actually. REM behavior disorder, 'a nasty side effect of prolonged benzodiapine use and withdrawal,'" he quoted. "Something to do with REM sleep and you moving, I suppose - those were the details Yusuf had asked me to look for anyway, before he came to see for himself. So I'm assuming the aid will work, if it knocks out REM sleep."

Arthur frowned. "The thing," he tried to explain, blinking slowly at Eames. The sedative was starting to take hold. "I - why."

"Later," Eames assuaged, taking Arthur's dropping hand in his. Now sleeping pills seemed like the most brilliant idea - there was no way he would have been able to dissuade Arthur from _research_. They could have been the wrong drugs, they could have been the some drugs that helped, but not completely, there was no reason why this mattered. "After sleep." Arthur should stay asleep for a good night's rest and hopefully longer, to catch up on all he'd missed.

Another beat and Arthur was out, sleeping what was hopefully soundly. There. Perfect. Eames yawned lightly, closing his own eyes, only to open them immediately as someone entered the tent. Yusuf? With lunch? Arthur was still asleep at least, peaceful and deep, and he couldn't even consider anything better. They didn't say much although it didn't seem their talk could wake Arthur, Eames just silently accepted the meal and watched Yusuf go.

Well, he was awake now and any more sleep and he probably wouldn't last through the night. He grabbed the pad instead, waking it to go through what Arthur had been looking at and double check a couple of things on Hera. Researching sleep seemed useless now that Arthur had finally settled down and what he did want to know would keep him busy.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked sometime before dinner, voice thick with sleep.

"Entertaining myself." Eames flicked the page so it zoomed up to the title of the forum page. "You know, I'm not sure how you found anything of use here, a lot of the discussions either descend into fights or cat videos. I was almost certain those went out of style some five hundred years ago." It wasn't necessarily true, some of the things Arthur had bookmarked about the not-theoretical-anymore planet did make sense, but were accompanied with the typical longing and sense of wonder of those stuck planet-side. At least they were good at math and the fights were fun to read, even if he couldn't participate - although that was probably for the best.

"How's your appetite? There's a cold lunch on the table and Yusuf should be bringing dinner sometime soon - I think I can hear a clamor already starting in the kitchens." He'd eaten his own fairly quickly but it didn't inspire him to get out of bed, besides to take a piss. There wasn't much to do out of bed, in any case.

"Hmm," Arthur murmured, dozing again briefly, before rousing himself. "It's more about how you search and what engines you use. Some of these we won't have access to once we leave," he tried to explain then leaned in a little closer to look at the forum title. "Did you see the cat jumping into the aquarium?" he asked, punctuating the question with a yawn.

" _Arthur_ , you watch cat videos? Which one, the one where it actually falls in or the one where it bounces off the glass?" So maybe he had mostly stopped reading when he realized he couldn't participate and just started watching the videos at one point - it's not like there was anything else to be doing. And it was a good laugh, especially when it was the humans who had it coming in the first place. "Did you see the one in the antigrav chamber?" he asked, pulling it up already.

"I don't go out of my way, and clearly not as many as you do," Arthur retorted before leaning into Eames space again to better see the screen.

"Glad to see you're up watching cat videos," Ariadne interrupted somewhere in the middle of the tenth one. "Corrupting him into procrastinating, shame on you, Eames," she tutted. "Yusuf sent me over with dinner. Did you guys rest well?" She offered the plates, only two and Eames assumed she'd already eaten herself and was just running errands for Yusuf now.

"Yeah," Arthur answered, accepting the plate she offered and even reaching for utensils. Eames was only too happy to accept his own. "Did you head out to Rook?"

"No, we didn't. I haven't gotten much sleep either really, I might tangle Isaac up and then he'd have to sit there until I cut him back out. We'd be one less of a harness, too." She looked slightly guilty. He didn't blame her. In the face of Arthur's work ethic, taking a day off would make anyone feel inadequate.

"Public holiday, today," Eames said, talking around a mouthful of noodles. "Working's against the law and you know how strictly we follow that."

"We should be back on it tomorrow, I can take over the sander," Arthur continued before pausing to chew. "I'll need help installing it, but we're almost done, aren't we?"

Eames would argue that they could use another day but that wouldn't fly without Yusuf's say so. Unfortunately. He sighed instead. At least Arthur was really and truly eating. He could faint. "Yeah, we should be. Since nothing changed since yesterday it's just half a day on the sander and then the other half installing the windows. I was thinking to line the welding edges from the other side with the strips. Just in case. Then after that it's just loading every one and thing up and we should be good to go." Finally. While he wasn't exactly looking forward to landing on Hera he could use some time off this planet for sure. Really, if he ever landed on it again in his lifetime it would be too soon.

Arthur cleared his throat, "Not to be a pessimist, but we shouldn't take everyone. We don't know how space worthy she is, and I don't want to put that many people at risk. We should be able to organize a rescue from Hera, one that will be able to fit more people comfortably and with less of a weight risk. We can take a few, but I wouldn't recommend everyone. There's enough food to last if we arrange it quickly."

"I'm sure Morena can organize who goes first - probably those in need of medical attention would go and the kids and their families, maybe," Ariadne said but looked unsure. "I don't know a whole lot about ships and space, but it's not that risky, is it?"

Eames shrugged again. "One stroke of bad luck and we're done, really. If we get high enough and the engine fails, we have enough supplies to drift in orbit until help comes since we should be able to signal somewhere off the surface. If we get high enough and depressurize, which I sincerely hope does not happen, everyone will be mush before a signal can even be sent. Probably should start with the signal, in fact, as soon as we get as far as orbit. As for who's going, the risks should probably be explained and everyone can make the decision for themselves."

"If it works and we land on Hera it shouldn't take more than a week, two at the most, to get organized," Arthur said, quickly becoming more alert, "If someone is in critical condition and that can be moved, then yes, but I wouldn't suggest more than a few, and I mean three to four people, and certainly not the kids. I don't want to take more supplies than we have to, and I don't want to take more people. It's an unnecessary risk." He looked to Eames then and that was somehow flattering.

The shop talk continued for another couple of minutes until they finally decided they really should keep their eggs uncounted for now. There was a job to finish first, then they could decide how many people they were going to take.

As soon as Ariadne left, Arthur eased himself back down and demanded the pad.

"For a little, alright?" Eames sighed, handing over the device anyway. "There's still sleep to be had. Especially for you." His own tiredness didn't seem to be abating but if he was right and it was his shoulder bothering him, there wouldn't be much to be done about it until it sorted itself out. "What are you looking up now, anyway?"

Irritation flashed across Arthur's features and painted a scowl. "I spent the last, however many hours asleep, how much sleep do you expect me to get?" he sniped as he unlocked the screen, "And why don't you keep the condescension to a minimum. I'm not a child, and if you call me one for trying to look into a condition I've recently been diagnosed with..."

"Well, I don't know what you're going to be looking up - you never said. And what do you expect me to do exactly? Treat you like an adult and trust you to know measure? That worked out stellar last time," Eames huffed, hoping the previous night and morning was evidence enough. Not to mention he'd slept almost as much as Arthur and he still could use some more. Still, he didn't want to turn it into an argument and he wasn't going to take anything away. Arthur wasn't a child and hopefully a reminder was good enough for him to realize what Eames meant. But he should also brush his teeth since he forwent that in the morning. He shuffled to get up, ignoring his boots as he stood and running a hand through his hair.

"Eames, I couldn't sleep, and you saw what happened when I did," Arthur's tone had shifted from offensive to defensive.

"Alright, alright, but you've lost far more hours of sleep than you've gained and you have the aid now." His feet were slightly fuzzy on the concept of standing after a whole day lazing about in bed. Splashing water in his face cleared that up fairly well and he fished out his toothbrush, the toothpaste chasing away the taste of noodles from his mouth.

"Are you going somewhere?" Arthur asked again from the bed, voice tinged with fake curiosity to try and hide a note of concern.

"Nope." Eames put his toothbrush away, flexing his shoulder, moving it with his other hand. It still hurt but not as bad as before, which was better. "Except maybe to the bathroom. Why, do you need something? Got some detail you want to ask Yusuf?"

"I'll go ask him," Arthur answered with a statement, yawning and sitting up, already far more chipper than just moments ago. "Do you want me to get some ice and warm water for that?"

"It doesn't hurt as bad as before, I think it'll be fine and I'll take some painkillers before going to sleep so it doesn't bother me during the night. And tell me what Yusuf says, too," he asked, stuffing his feet into his boots. It was still annoying that he had to put them on for a short trip to the bathroom, even though it wasn't anything new. "If there's anything anything new anyway." He held the flap open, waiting for Arthur.

His own trip was short and Eames waited for Arthur to get back, still trying his best to curb the yawning that had all but possessed him. "Yusuf said it was fine to take them again," Arthur said when he returned, making a beeline for the sink to brush his teeth as well.

"Problem solved then. I'm dropping off to sleep as soon as I close my eyes, I know that for sure, so it's your choice if you want to take them or not. Slept pretty well during the day though." No sleepwalking or talking, certainly. He wouldn't be able to see if Arthur took them again or not but hopefully the man would be able to settle down easily - he wouldn't be able to tell if Arthur spent the whole night on the pad again.

Arthur shifted on the bed. "You're still tired?" he asked, a little concerned. "Have you talked to Yusuf about that?"

"Yeah. There's no infection, he checked for that first off, it's probably just the healing process - at least I imagine it is. I only slept till lunch anyway so it wasn't too long of a nap." Four hours were still a long time but Arthur had slept the full eight and still hadn't quite recovered, not in Eames' estimation anyway. A yawn and he put his arm across Arthur's waist again, closing his eyes as well.

It was warm and comfortable, Arthur breathing measured under his arm, sending Eames easily to sleep and when he drifted back to consciousness in what seemed like the middle of the night, loathe to even move. He must have gotten enough sleep, at least according to his body by that time. A sigh and he rolled over onto his side, shifting to keep them closer together. If he didn't wake up fully he could probably fall asleep again till morning, which was something he worked ardently on doing, orienting himself closer to Arthur by sounds and touch alone.

Arthur twisted sharply next to him and Eames opened his eyes. Nightmares again. He must not have taken the drug. Eames levered himself up, carefully brushing the hair from Arthur's forehead, starting the little tune under his breath. At this rate it would become an actual song, not just a mindless melody he hummed when he wasn't paying attention. And if it helped, that was alright with him.

Slowly Arthur began to calm, shifting closer and notes escaping under his breath, in tune to Eames'.

Eames smiled and let himself back down, letting his eyes close. He didn't sleep solidly, simply drifting in and out of consciousness until morning finally broke and Arthur shifted next to him. Eames blinked his eyes open, offering a short yawn instead of words.

"Morning," Arthur offered, swallowing a yawn of his own as he cracked his spine, a series of sequential pops starting from the base.

"Oh, lovely," Eames grimaced, running a hand down Arthur's back, in a strange attempt to soothe the rather loud pops. They probably weren't painful but knuckles were one thing, spine was something else.

Arthur smiled but it faded as he opened his mouth to speak. "The dream changed."

"Did it?" Eames kept his hand on Arthur's back, stroking mindlessly. "Will you tell me?"

"It's," and Arthur gave himself a moment to put it into words, "Mal on the Reaver ship, and it's not just the soldiers, it's everyone. And I can't even move to stop her." Eames could feel the small shudder that ran up his spine.

"Mm..." Eames sighed, trying to think of something to say. It wasn't a pleasant dream, from any angle, but it seemed good that it had changed. "I suppose that's better than just being stuck in a loop," he said at length. "And I guess it can be changed, as well, if you want to try that." It hadn't worked for him, although his dream had also changed, taking on worries and stressors, but never anything that he'd like it to take. But it was an option. Otherwise, the sleeping aids did wonders for Arthur's sleeping habits, in fact, he didn't even need to try anything at all.

"Control the dream?" Arthur asked skeptically.

"Not my idea."

"Did you have a nightmare last night?"

Eames paused for a moment, thinking back, Arthur's attempt at a jog having eclipsed a good part of the previous day. "I did, I think, although I barely remember it. Two as a matter of fact - one during the night and a shapeless one after you'd left." He rubbed his eye, trying to think of it. "I managed to change the first one and the second woke me and prompted me to go look for you, which was the right choice at the time."

"And what about earlier, or did I wake you up?" Arthur pressed, sitting up now and pressing a soft kiss to Eames' forehead after which Eames couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, no, I was awake already. I suppose by then my body had decided I'd had enough sleep. Not that it stopped me from getting back to it." Eames tilted his chin up, letting his hand travel up to Arthur's shoulder. A sigh. "You know what's a pity? We have this nice fancy large bed all to ourselves and we really only got to appreciate it once."

"We've got some time before breakfast," Arthur offered, already twisting to catch Eames' lips, leading to a slow, deep kiss.

A laugh and Eames brought his hand back up to the back of Arthur's head, reciprocating in turn. At least it was nice to know that the sentiment was there, although if either of them couldn't get it up he wouldn't be particularly surprised, what with the exhaustion and drugs and all the other things. Not that he was going to mention this and instead sat up slightly, sucking on Arthur's lip. But Arthur guided Eames back down, and carefully positioned himself over him on hands and knees, Eames' thigh between them, all of it without so much as breaking contact, a hand already making it's way down Eames' chest.

Now if it wasn't for his damned shoulder which was making things more than unfair and the soft sounds outside which could or could not be a person... Eames shifted his knee instead, pressing upwards and tightened his fingers on the back of Arthur's neck. "We should probably save it for a bit... later," he contradicted himself, mind going one way, body going the other. If they were still exhausted after a good 20 hours of sleep, Ariadne and then Yusuf would worry and then they'd never take off.

Arthur pulled away and had the grace to look disappointed, at least a little bit. "Yeah, later," he agreed dully as he stepped into his shoes. As he'd thought, although it seemed like Arthur was the chronic sufferer between the two of them.

"Well, no need to sound so down about it," Eames chuckled. Sitting up, he could already feel the static behind his eyes - a little bit of exercise would have certainly cleared it. But still, it wasn't going to be too taxing of a day, there was no reason they'd run out of energy by evening. Perhaps by then they might even succeed.

Breakfast and repairs proceeded with little change from the usual - what Eames had mentioned needed to be done fell into place in short order. It was louder than usual, the buzz of the welder and sander now accompanied with the hissing of the reinforcing mesh. He didn't have enough to cover all of the seams so the job was over fairly quickly, prioritizing the ones that were in areas that couldn't be sealed off in case of emergencies. Besides that and watching the sander work until lunch - since he wasn't allowed to use it, along with all the other things his shoulder prevented him from doing - the work was fairly light.

After lunch they could already get started on installation of the windshield pieces, the extra sheet metal brought from the junkyard coming in handy to replace the bent and warped clamps of the metal. Sealing would have to be done with silica - abundant in the yard as well, but it would have to wait until Isaac was done with the rest of the ship.

The drive back proved as uneventful as dinner, though he did speak more than he had in a while, even if it still wasn't much. Isaac still dominated the conversation, Arthur only contributed a few asides to Eames and occasionally to Ariadne. He even wished her goodnight before he left to gather both the things they'd need for a shower.

Eames asked for volunteers for their flight and most of the people in line seemed to agree it would be best if Morena decided - it was better than picking straws so Eames so no reason he should disagree and Arthur uttered no word of protest either so that settled that. She was easy enough to find after they showered.

"I have no doubt Ariadne will be raring to go, so to speak," she said as soon as the question was posed. "We should probably keep Yusuf here for the time being and I will stay as well. That just leaves one or two more spaces. I think you'll find that Jasmine and Will are both well versed travelers and are both young and in good health. They also have families on Hera, so I believe you'll find they are the best choice. I can introduce you tomorrow at breakfast." And that was the end of that conversation besides agreements and pleasantries. No insinuations or prodding questions. Eames was afraid that at this rate he would start to like the crazed woman.

They headed back to the tent, Eames stretching and flexing his shoulders as he walked. Far better than before, although the bruises were healing slower than he'd like, typical of their kind, but movement hurt much less. All that sleep probably did a world of good, if not to his head then to his body. The rest would be determined by time, he figured. It was good that they were drawing closer to take off - the change in pace with meeting the others at breakfast was already something to look forward to. On their way to the tent he was waylaid by Han asking if he would join them for poker - and probably more shop talk now that everyone knew the repairs were drawing to a close. Eames bowed out gracefully. They'd have some other night, hopefully not on this planet, and he privately hoped to be previously engaged.

Arthur had already unpacked the dirtied clothes and set the rucksack aside for tomorrow by the time Eames ducked into the tent. "Meeting them for poker?" he asked lightly as Eames let the flap fall into place behind him.

"Nah," Eames said, zipping the door down halfway for at least some peace of mind, then stepped into Arthur's space, lightly resting his hands on Arthur's hips. "I'm almost certain it's later already - unless I'm mistaken?"

Arthur smiled, smug, as he moved his hands up Eames' chest, nimble fingers working at the buttons slowly. "Mmm, it could have waited until after a few hands," he said, even as he stepped in closer, mouth trailing along Eames' neck.

"After a few hands things are only getting started, darling, I can hardly be expected to leave then." Eames ran his hand around and up Arthur's back, the other undoing buttons from the bottom - experience told him that Arthur could hardly be relied on to do that himself. "And then after a dozen hands and hours of gossip, the night is gone and I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Arthur's lips curled in smirk against Eames' skin before he drew back. "The sex was that good?" he asked, teasing as he undid the next button and then the next, letting his fingers skim over the exposed skin. "Or have you always been a sap?" he added, quirking a brow, already moving back to mouth at Eames' throat and undo the last remaining button.

"Very sappy," Eames agreed easily, barely even feeling the need to raise the fact that sex didn't compare to poker by a long shot. Besides, it was the cheating at cards that was the real fun and he wouldn't do that in a circle of people he was only beginning to get acquainted with. "Also I don't really need the world, what am I going to do with it?" He made short work of the buttons while Arthur was sufficiently distracted by his neck, but let his own slide off first, tossing it onto the chair.

Arthur traced his hands over Eames' torso, frowning slightly as if he found something amiss. Eames wasn't really surprised, he'd lost a good amount of muscle mass with this climate and diet. But Arthur had finally lost his shirt so Eames didn't feel the need to comment.

"Ah, good to know you'd rather have me than something you don't know what to do with," Arthur quipped as he attempted to guide Eames' to the bed, crowding him in and towards the mattress. "And I do hope you know what to do with me," he said before leaning in for a gentle press of lips.

"Oh don't I-" Eames growled, pushing back and deciding he'd spent quite enough time on his back letting Arthur call the shots. There was little room to really go far and he tugged at the front of Arthur's waistband, using that small bit of momentum to turn them around, his own knees almost touching the edge of the bed, before pushing and letting go.

And that had Arthur's eyes darkening, a soft, compromised note escaping him, breath already noticeably quicker than before as he stared up at Eames from his new seat on the edge of the mattress. Well, now Eames absolutely knew what buttons to push even if Arthur was already scooting back and goading: "You sure about that?"

"Undoubtedly," Eames kneeled as Arthur moved back, pressing forward to claim a kiss and push them both father horizontal. So far so good, his shoulder was doing a minimum amount of complaining. He brought his right hand to Arthur's collar, stroking his thumb up along the center of his neck. His hands would have their heyday this time, with no rules to bind them and he was determined to make that count. "I was thinking of starting with everything you wouldn't let me do last time," he said, breaking the kiss and skimming his hand downward, replacing it with a light touch of teeth to Arthur's collarbone.

Arthur went down without protest, stretching out on his back, opening himself up to every touch Eames thought to give him. "Could use some specifics," he challenged, even though he was this close to simply writhing under Eames' hands. The clatter of Arthur's shoes reminded Eames that he was still his in boots - something that should probably be remedied. He sat back, with effort, but grinning, shifting enough in his place on Arthur's knees to take off the boots.

"That would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" he said instead of an answer. The view was quite nice from here as well, although he did wish he could do something about how slim Arthur was getting. The various bruises were on their way to healing, at least, and he looked forward to adding some more of his very own. Rid of his shoes, he ducked down, licking a stripe up Arthur's lower stomach, kneading his fingers into Arthur's hips. "You'll find out eventually, no?"

"Eames," Arthur said breathlessly, bringing his hand around Eames' neck and then through Eames' hair, fingers digging into his scalp. His other hand he ran along as much of Eames' side as he could reach, palming soft skin, as he arched up. Eames rose back up, planting his left hand down near Arthur's head and ducking down to kiss him once more. His right traveled up Arthur's side, leaving the button on his pants undone and stroking upwards, brushing over ribs and gently teasing a nipple. He would take his time that was for certain. They had the whole night.

Arthur wrapped his arm around Eames' back, blunt nails digging in as Eames teased. "This is what you wanted to do to me?" he asked, feigning unimpressed, acting as if he wasn't pressing back desperately against every touch.

"Would you like me to slow down completely? I can do that," Eames grinned, turning his head to nip at Arthur's jaw and stilling his hand. Only for a little bit unfortunately, and he bit at Arthur's ear as a distraction, lifting his head enough to look down smugly. While he hadn't won any games for this, he was going to take it as his chance to make the rules - and he was going to be thorough. Teach Arthur the virtues of foreplay as it were.

"If you slow down any further, we wouldn't be doing anything," Arthur sniped, shifting his legs in an attempt to nudge Eames over. Oh, fine.

Eames ignored Arthur's nudge and let his hand run down and around, slipping under the waistband now. "Unless you have any specific opinions or requests to add to this conversation, I would like to carry on." The last part was said as more of a murmur as he ducked to press his lips to Arthur's throat again, nipping lightly and moving down.

Arthur shimmied out of his trousers with haste, already starting on Eames' even though he wasn't even close to finished with Arthur yet. "Just one, that we actually have sex at some point tonight," he growled.

"Needy, needy." A chuckle and Eames slid back, hands unbuttoning his own fly but mind concentrating on tonguing along the length of Arthur's body, helping him get his pants off after. He kneeled, sitting back on his heels and biting gently at Arthur's hipbone, one hand stroking along Arthur's thigh, the other lightly along the length of Arthur's already half-hard cock. In another second, he turned his head, running his tongue after his fingers, looking up almost gleefully before finally taking the head into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it.

A soft gasp, followed quickly by an involuntary moan and Arthur's expression twisted as he tried to keep quiet. Eames would simply have to try harder. "You don't want, ah, a, condom?" Arthur managed, hands gripping the sheets.

"Only if you'd like one," Eames lifted his mouth off just a little bit to talk, still almost resting his lips on the head. It was too late for any sort of safety and he was perfectly content to swallow - the other night was proof enough of that. He mouthed at the skin gently, waiting for his answer, thumb of one hand stroking slowly down and along the scrotum.

Arthur let out a sharp stream of hissed curses, then "I don't- but you- you don't want one?" He seemed confused, at least Eames thought that seemed like confusion, underneath a haze of desperation and lust.

Eames squinted upward. It was probably some sort of insecurity, not forgetfulness, and Arthur wasn't exactly coherent enough to voice it, a good thing for once. "I'm fine. I would have complained that other night, would I not?" He let the words rumble along the skin, amused that they were having a conversation in the middle of a blowjob. "Is that alright?"

Arthur was starting to settle, to get himself under enough control to better articulate: "I'd already done it for you, I thought you were just reciprocating," and he stared straight at the roof of the tent as he spoke. He glanced down and brought his hand to Eames' chin, trying to get him to look up and stop the teasing. "We can do whatever you want. You don't need to do all this, we can just fuck. Or I can suck you off-"

"Right, too much thinking, none of that allowed here," Eames interrupted, biting playfully at Arthur's fingers. "So long as you're enjoying it, I'd say we're good to go." As far as he recalled, they were doing exactly what he wanted and if Arthur was alright with it he saw no reason they should change anything. He wasn't about to go digging in those issues, however, action alone would be enough to prove his intentions. And if this is was what Arthur expected, well. Perhaps he should bring him halfway there and then fuck him 'till he came and would need to do nothing to reciprocate. That would show him, for sure. He settled on that, taking Arthur back in his mouth, fingers skimming along the area he couldn't reach with his tongue.

Arthur's head fell back heavily, soft noises already leaving him as Eames continued, turning into low and quiet moans as his hips began to strain. There were some things he could ignore in favor of patiently driving his partner wild - Arthur's moans were not on that particular list. Eames sacrificed one hand to shove his own pants and trousers down, letting them tangle around his knees for now, stroking himself in time with the arrhythmic bobbing of his head until it was enough and Arthur was calling his name. He drew back slowly, releasing the head with a purposeful pop, one hand gliding along Arthur's middle. "How would you like to turn over for me, darling?" he all but purred, sitting up a little bit higher after pressing a kiss to the tip, already tugging off his pants.

He didn't think Arthur could be any more aroused than he was already but dark eyes turned darker still and Arthur shifted to hands and knees without a single noise of confirmation or protest. Eames took that as a sign that he was doing everything right.

He took that small break to reach for the side table, digging out the condoms and grabbing two, not particularly paying attention to the sort. Making quick work of the wrappings, he rose back up to his knees, leaning over to roll the first onto Arthur, brushing kisses along Arthur's spine. He let the second condom wait, instead uncorking the lube, warming the little dollop while he mapped Arthur's back with his lips, other hand stroking thighs and stomach. Finally, he pressed his finger forward and in, stroking gently. Almost a year, jesus... Damn - an unsteady breath and he focused on keeping the steady pace, mouthing and biting at skin.

It was dizzying, almost physically so, Arthur open and relaxed before him, dipped forward onto the mattress with thighs spread, hips pushing back against Eames', the only real sound the combination of their breaths. He carefully added another finger, pushing in and gently out until Arthur got used to it before adding a third, waiting for the pressure to release. Just a little bit longer, although his patience was wearing paper thin and he still had to put his own condom on. "Arthur..." At least he had a large enough measure of control to keep his voice to an indoor sort of range. Withdrawing as gradually as he could, he pulled the condom from under his knee, rolling it on with one hand and stroking Arthur's side with the other until he needed both to get the lube open. That done, finally, he leaned over, aligning himself and skating his teeth along Arthur's spine. "Ready," came out breathless and hardly intoned correctly for a question, not to mention he was already pressing in slightly. Arthur pushed back instead of an answer, hands reaching blindly behind him to drag Eames in, closer, weight pressed against Arthur's back enough that Eames had to put out his arm to brace himself.

" _Arthur_ -" fuck, it was hard to think with Arthur pushing back at him in time with his thrusts, and he sucked on Arthur's shoulder instead, pulling back out gradually, carefully starting a fragile rhythm. His other hand was splayed out on Arthur's stomach, stroking softly across rippling muscle, and down, skimming, then applying some pressure to Arthur's erection, stroking as close in time as he could manage. That elicited a moan and Arthur turned his head to press his nose into the side of Eames' head, kissing there even as rolled his hips forward into Eames hand, and then back with a groan, settling into the pace, breathing turning harsh.

"Eames, Eames, fuck, Eames."

Eames would slow, typically, make it last, but he couldn't, giving in at the sound of his name with a soft grunt. He thrust faster, shallower than before but enough, turning his head to mouth at Arthur's neck, just keeping his hand still under them, the movement of their hips pushing and pulling for it. Just a little bit longer - he groaned into soft skin, panting and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to last just a bit more. Arthur's moans were muffled into the pillow and he pulsed in Eames' hand, tensing and cumming and finally Eames let himself crumble.

In a minute, as soon as he caught half a breath, he withdrew, fingers stroking along Arthur's belly again. In another, he sat back on his heels, getting rid of the condom, after tying it off, with a well aimed toss. That had been more intense than the first time, somehow, although he still had trouble putting his hands away, one still placed gently on Arthur's thigh. Arthur remained still but on his back so Eames took the liberty of cleaning up for the both of them.

"Still better," Arthur said at length, "than cards?"

"Actually, no, you see, in the middle I decided that I was kind of bored - I should thump you for that sort of question, Arthur Hale, maybe then you'll see straight." Eames sighed, rolling his eyes and shifting to his side of the bed, pressing himself along Arthur's side, content to stay right there.

Arthur chuckled, stretching out and sidling in, pausing for a moment then pressing in to kiss Eames' cheek. "You want me to think straight around you?" he questioned, moving on to Eames' neck now.

A groan and Eames rolled his eyes once more, sliding his arm under Arthur's neck. They might be a bit sticky but a bit wasn't a lot and he didn't actually feel like moving. There were probably pants or a shirt within reach if Arthur wanted, he would settle for being a little gross. He tangled their legs instead, curling his arm to run his hand through Arthur's hair. "Jerk," he complained for lack of energy to come up with anything wittier, lifting his chin to give Arthur more room if he wanted it.

"Fair warning, you're not easy to think straight around, but I can try," Arthur continued, nosing in and mouthing at Eames' jawline.

"Alright, alright, no straight thinking, just keep to the clear and logical." Eames tugged up one of the blanket edges, wrapping it around them both. It was only barely enough but he suspected they would move in the night, as opposed to right now, if it got uncomfortable. "Do you want to take the sleeping aids or are you alright as is?"

"Pills," Arthur answered, summoning enough energy to twist over and shake one out of the little bottle, popping that into his mouth before snagging what was left of the water sitting on the nightstand. He put them both back in place and burrowed himself back in bed, arranging the blankets more evenly with some careful shifting and some sharp tugs. "You'll sleep okay?" Arthur asked, running his hand softly along Eames' body

"I'll sleep marvelously, no doubt there." Eames shifted only enough so he could shut off the light as soon as Arthur was done then replaced his arm under Arthur's neck, moving to close any gaps as they settled back in. He slung his other across Arthur's waist as usual, eyes already fluttering closed. If he was being more cuddly than normal he refused to be ashamed of it or leave any place they could be tangled alone. A yawn and he tucked their foreheads together, fingers drumming softly on the small of Arthur's back. And if he stayed still and close, maybe Arthur would have good dreams.


	11. Chapter 11

The aid did its job, keeping Arthur deeply asleep on into the morning, later than he normally slept. He opened his eyes drowsily, and almost fell asleep again. "We have a... people... thing." He mumbled, not even sure if Eames was awake.

"Is it contagious?" Eames yawned, opening his eyes a smidgen and burying his nose in Arthur's neck.

"Should have been a dinner meeting," Arthur groused into Eames' hair before he forced himself upright. Not that it would change much, Arthur was famished and for once looking forward to breakfast. He just wished he could have it brought, rather than suffer through the ordeal of getting up and dressed and making an appearance. And fucking hell, Eames had turned him lazy and languid. Or maybe it was the last of Yusuf's sedative making its rounds through his bloodstream.

Still, he left the warmth and comfort of the bed to dress in clothes that had been hastily removed, absently missing his sleepwear and changing into fresh attire. Eames clothes were also scattered on the floor and he tossed them onto the bed where they could be more easily reached before he moved to the sink and started in on washing his face and brushing his teeth.

"Should have-uh. You have a little bit of something..." Eames pointed to his own neck, halfway through putting on a shirt.

A bit of something? Arthur brought his hand to his neck, and then fetched the mirror, angling it down as he moved his palm to catch sight of the bruising. He swallowed thickly, running his thumb over it and turning his neck a little further for closer examination. "You left a mark," he said; and Eames had actually left quite a few marks, but the one on his neck was far more noticeable. Arthur wasn't sure if he should be concerned or upset, if he should ignore the small swell of almost pride that Eames would leave something so highly visible.

He fiddled with the collar of his shirt, trying futilely to mask it. Arthur wasn't even certain how serious things were... He glanced to Eames, who only seemed amused by his handiwork.

"Sorry?" Eames offered, not really looking it. "Not that anyone's going to ask, but I'll go along with anything you say."

So far the town had proved to be a gossipy one, and Arthur grew uneasy. He tried to tell himself he was hardly constrained to any sort of decorum or formal policy as he had been in his office, but it was still difficult to let the lines of what passed for his personal life - had it really been reduced to a few quiet hours with Eames? Did he really consider that his life now? Could he even call it a reduction? - blur with his more public one.

"I'm not interested in announcing this," he said, perhaps more coldly and bluntly than he should have. Old habits died hard, and the openness he'd displayed with Eames the night before was being stretched too far, too suddenly, and Arthur's immediate reaction was to retract. Instead he searched through the shirts for one with a higher collar, and quickly switched, buttoning all the way to the top. It was still visible, but only if someone knew where to look, or was paying far more attention to his neck than was warranted. "No one should mention it."

"No, I'm sure they wouldn't. Sorry," Eames apologized again, looking forlorn. "I shouldn't have."

"I did it to you first," Arthur said reasonably, granted they had hardly known each other, and there was no one to connect them, and had there been they could have played it off as nothing more than stress relief. But he softened knowing that Eames was on board with keeping their... status quiet. He listened carefully for footsteps outside, and upon hearing none he was brave enough to venture into Eames' space, avoiding his back without thought and coming to rest at Eames' side at the sink with only centimeters between.

He felt like he should say more, Eames usually would have stolen a touch or a kiss by now, or maybe Arthur had grown as needy as Eames had teased, but regardless. He was a man of habits and routines, and he'd come to enjoy Eames additions to it. "I don't want you to be sorry," he said, trying to make an effort at communication, at better communication. Eames wasn't even complaining about it, not verbally, but the missing touches spoke volumes, as did the more sincere apology. Arthur wasn't a stupid man, and Eames might be better at reading people, but Arthur could still tell he'd been misunderstood. Or more accurately, he'd misrepresented himself in a bid for dignity, which he probably hadn't even lost in Eames' eyes. "Do you want to tell people?" he tried carefully, belatedly realizing that just because Eames hadn't voiced an opinion, it didn't mean he didn't have one. Arthur had ceded to him last night, and almost everything Eames had done, had been for Arthur's benefit. And Eames was still doing it.

"I put you in a tight spot, didn't I?" Eames said, splashing water in his face. "I doubt I could convincingly lie about it. Unless you'd like me to. Of course."

They were skirting into dangerous territory again, and it took effort not grind the discussion to a halt. Instead he gave himself a few moments to think; 'he was afraid to put a name to what they were doing. Putting a label on it made it real, made it something that could be ruined, but this uncertain dance left him uncomfortable.

"And what is the truth?" Arthur asked finally, "If Ariadne asked, what would you say?"

"I was expecting you to refuse," Eames started. "Just not like I did something wrong. If Ariadne asked I'd probably lie about it anyway."

Arthur's head swiveled in Eames' direction and his face was washed with indignation, "Did I say you did something wrong? Because I thought I made it clear you didn't. I don't want you to be sorry you left a mark, I just don't want other people to know. It's none of their business. You can't offer me a choice and then take it personally when I don't choose the option you wanted." He stepped away, the potential fight already forcing him to retreat before he was hurt. But it was difficult to keep the armor he wore so well up after giving himself over. He felt he'd shown more of himself sooner than he should have, and now he was left preemptively withdrawing before Eames could cause any damage. "You haven't even made it clear what you want, what this is, so forgive me for not shouting out that we've got some friends-with-benefits deal happening."

"That's not... It's not- I _got_ that, I was explaining why I might have looked unhappy with your decision. And you asked what I would do and I told you the truth - it is none of anybody's business and if you tell me to shut up about it, I will. I might also need a little clarification on your definition of friends-with-benefits, Arthur. If you ask me, that option came and went with Rook's spaceworthiness, wouldn't you say?"

Arthur had to admit it would be a lot easier if they were nothing more than friends-with-benefits, but they had crossed that line a long time ago. There was too much between them, and Arthur knew he wouldn't be half as quick to retreat if it was only sex at risk.

"I don't know what we are, I don't know what you want, and frankly I'm done with this conversation," Arthur said, moving past Eames to retrieve the mirror again and ensure his hair was done correctly. His appetite was lost, but he touched up quickly, reluctantly waiting for Eames to finish what he was doing. If Eames wasn't going to define them, Arthur wasn't either, and he'd already made it clear he didn't want their dalliance known. He wished he'd stayed asleep, curled up comfortably with Eames, instead of letting himself become touchy and defensive because he'd... had frighteningly good sex. Arthur cursed himself.

"I've told you want I want. Hell, I've told you several times- You can be done with this conversation, but I'm continuing it at a later time," Eames said, buttoning the last button on his shirt and picking up the garbage to shake it.

Arthur watched as Eames tossed the garbage, clearly still angry, but making an effort to hide evidence... Arthur was a little awed, and maybe Eames' didn't necessarily want it hidden, but Arthur hadn't expected him to make an effort to hide it, especially while he was so obviously upset.

He moved to catch up to him as Eames ducked out of the tent, but Morena stepped up with two people in tow and Arthur held his tongue as introductions were made. Will's face was familiar, he'd spoken to Eames a few times, Jasmine had returned just that morning from another settlement with supplies, and so far both of them seemed decent people.

"Aw, geeze, we slept in, didn't we," Eames remarked somewhat cheerily, taking a seat at a table already set with food.

"You can hardly be held at fault for that, everything you've been through, yeah?" Will absolved and Arthur couldn't be sure if Eames had filled him in or if word just got around. Probably the latter.

Jasmine plunged straight into business. "So what model is your ship?"

"WQ-491 Sallet-class. Modified a bit, engine wise. And took a bit of exterior-interior redecorating as well. Ever flew in one?" Eames countered, before eating a spoonful of oatmeal. Jasmine shook her head. She explained that she had flown on cargo ships, and Will had grown up on a station before flying long-distance commercial, both larger transport than Eames' but at least the experience was there. Questions quickly shifted to what Eames was looking for: Will had piloting experience and Jasmine had done mostly maintenance work and both were eager to learn new positions if need be.

"It would mostly be emergency maintenance," Eames stated, "given there's little left not bumped and bruised. In case something goes wrong we need all hands on deck, so to speak, but otherwise it's small enough to fly on its own without too much trouble."

Arthur remained quiet, eating little as the others seemed to dig in. Morena certainly seemed to notice if her expression were anything to go by, and she was less than pleased, but she didn't have a chance to say anything before Ariadne dropped by and conversation was largely drowned out by her enthusiasm over seeing Jasmine again. Apparently they were already friends, which was another point in favor. Morena had certainly done a solid job in selecting a team.

After breakfast they headed out, the general chatter moving towards the transports. When they got to Rook, Arthur wasted no time strapping Isaac into the harness and letting him get to work on the exterior. He figured it would be best to let Eames show off his ship while he occupied himself with the last of the cleanup process. He'd join them once there was nothing else for him to do.

Eventually there wasn't enough left to clean and there were more important issues than personal desire to avoid people. He opted to iron out details on the windshield, which took little time at all as he'd already discussed most of it with Isaac. At least Will was caught up, though the installation would still need to wait on Isaac. He could hear Eames and Jasmine talking and laughing and tried very hard not to think about it as he triple-checked the nav system with Will and Ariadne until lunch.

Lunch was a happier affair than usual and Isaac came down with the good news that the hull was now mostly one piece. Now all that was left was to reinforce the solder lines and put in the windows. The extra hands did make the job easier, and within a few hours the windshield was perfectly in place and properly secured even when Arthur and Isaac double and triple checked the seams. The exterior was good, the interior was good, the engine and the console were all in working order. Arthur was relatively certain they could take off by tomorrow afternoon if everyone was able to pack quickly. And by both his and Will's estimate, Hera was only two day's travel; three if they took it easy on the engines and conserved fuel.

The drive back was pleasant, if hotter than usual and everyone scattered to pack. Eames waited a beat for Arthur before heading to the tent. "Well?" he prompted. "Does our motley little crew hold up to your stringent standards?"

Arthur gave a flat look, feigning more annoyance than he felt. It was fairly obvious he approved of them, they'd worked well and followed instruction when needed. And Jasmine had at least seemed to keep Ariadne from noticing that Arthur had stayed tightly buttoned up all day. Though now that it was just him and Eames he decided to undo the collar, exposing his neck and wiping away perspiration. He'd have to do it back up before they left for dinner, but for at least an hour or so he would be more comfortable.

"We should find some boxes or bags," Arthur said, he had the rucksack, but it couldn't hold everything. They might be able to get something from Yusuf or Morena, though.

"We'll be taking the mattress back, too, so we can load it straight into the trailer. But I think there were a couple of boxes in the odds and ends tent where we got the frame."

"Mind grabbing some?" Arthur asked. He didn't want to venture too far from the tent after he'd unbuttoned his shirt. Eames' fingers skated across his neck and Arthur's eyes fluttered shut, head automatically tipping forward. God, that was good: Arthur had missed the physical contact, more than he wanted to admit. Just the affection...

"Sure, I'll grab a couple of big ones," Eames agreed, putting his hand down and stealing a quick kiss. It was a relief, the touch and kiss, after their disagreement. Eames was clearly fine, and not so upset with him that he would avoid him. Arthur started laying out clothes to put up as soon as Eames returned in effort to speed packing along. Arthur hadn't gotten far when Eames made it back, but it wouldn't take long to put everything into boxes. The books and personal belongings went into one decently sized box, and clothing going into the rest. Arthur was content to work quietly.

When he was done, Eames took the full box of books off the bed, sitting down on it in it's place. "So. What happened this morning?" he asked without preamble.

"I told you I didn't want to make this public, you established you don't care," Arthur said, keeping himself occupied with packing the rucksack with a change of clothes and towels. He didn't bother to look up from what he was doing; he preferred not to make eye contact. This topic should have been closed. Arthur had already made it clear that Eames had done nothing wrong in leaving the mark, even if he had come across colder than he'd intended. He'd even tried to make amends by asking after what Eames genuinely wanted to do.

"There was a different issue hidden in the midst of that. You don't know what we are and you don't know what I want. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were backing out again," Eames stated flatly.

Arthur went rigid, first hurt then angry. "I told you," he said bitterly and buttoned the collar of his shirt in preparation to leave, "how many times did I fucking say it, that I'm not good at this shit? I never said I wanted to back out, but you know, if the slightest little..." Arthur took a moment to compose himself.

"You want to put words in my mouth? Fine. Now I want to back out. Clearly we're not good for each other. Thanks for an entertaining evening," he said spitting a parody of the words Eames had written him months ago with heavy sarcasm. He slung the rucksack over his shoulder and headed for the exit, trying to duck out and avoid the fallout. It was better they drop this, clearly Arthur wasn't the right person for Eames. Nothing stung quite like being right the first time, but at least he was the one metaphorically walking out.

Eames did rise to stop him this time, putting his right arm in the way, taking the wall side of the flap. The only thing that kept him from twisting Eames arm around to get past him was that it was his injured shoulder. And the bastard probably knew it.

"I'm not putting words in your mouth. I'm trying to get some out. I can't solve everything for you and I can't be expected to put my heart at your feet when you're like to trample it in a panic-" A pause. "I mean- What I mean is that you keep on saying you're not good at this and I keep on trying to understand _what_ it is you're not good at and besides the fact that you like saying you aren't good at this and storming off, I'm drawing a blank. You asked the question first! Instead of taking and twisting a phrase not intended to hurt and storming out, you can just say you don't want to talk about at the moment, or you can actually answer the same question you keep throwing at me: _What are we?_ All perfectly better alternatives than stomping off in a fit, for chrissakes, that solves nothing but leave a broken mess with no one around to even try to fix it."

The words stopped Arthur cold, and at first all he could manage as hurt, disgust and betrayal played across his features was a choked, "Fuck you," that lacked bite. He cleared his throat, "I remember pretty clearly telling you I didn't want to have this conversation, but, big fucking surprise, you can't respect that, so don't give me that bullshit about saying I don't want to talk about when you've demonstrated you can't leave anything alone. I asked if you wanted to tell people, and I tried to ask what you'd want to tell people, because I was actually considering it if you had wanted to, and the response you gave was fat wad of nothing along with shoving a misunderstanding I had already tried to fix in my face. So don't tell me I can ask you anything either. I warned you I would do or say something wrong to fuck this up, that I wouldn't do enough, but you... you convinced me to try, that you were different, that you didn't expect anything. You promised you'd back off if I told you to. Do not paint yourself as some poor bastard that got his heart stomped on when I told you not to put it there in the first place. You do not get to play the victim when you have prodded and pushed for this. So don't you fucking _dare_."

"You were consider-" Eames halted to a stop. "I'm not playing injured, I want to- I'll leave it," he conceded, shrinking, ducking his head. "Just forget I said anything of it. I'm sorry, I'll leave it, please." He made an uncertain gesture at the flap.

The sudden change in demeanor gave Arthur pause, suddenly less sure of his hasty decision to end things. "You wanted to have this conversation," he said, unable to let go of the issue and what Eames had said. The words had sunk deep. Arthur shook his head. "I can't do this; if you're that afraid why would you want to try? Did you think it made you look noble?"

"Because it comes up. Later, when it's too late. It always does, things you don't want to talk about come back to bite. If you don't want to hear it, that's alright as well, I just thought it best to have a little more time to sort it out instead of avoiding each other for the next several days."

"They come back up because you drag them back up," Arthur retorted, waspish, not appreciating the sudden turn around. "You know what? No. I don't want to hear it. The problem is solved and I didn't need you to do it. We're done. I just asked why you'd try anything with me if you're waiting for me to 'trample your heart,' you overdramatic sack of shit, and you still won't answer." '

"It was the wrong thing to say. I didn't mean to say it. But why try anything, right, just get hurt out of it. I pushed, you snapped, I offered to drop it, you pushed instead. Now I don't know what you want of me or us. I ask you to stay and you tell me you could leave at some point. Is that could a will, then? Should I stop trying to find a solution because as soon as you step foot on a civilized planet you're taking off? I'm trying to talk about this now because if you'd like to go separate ways when we touch down, you'll need to tell me so I don't accidentally guilt you into staying out of pity."

Arthur looked away, jaw tightened and arms crossed. He hadn't wanted to go, he still didn't, if he were willing to admit to himself, but maybe it was the better choice. They were stepping on each other's toes and misunderstanding each other and Eames wasn't giving him a reason to stay and Arthur couldn't find one other than he wanted to stay, and he didn't even know why.

No.

He knew why. Eames was... a lot of things and most of them were good. Arthur liked him, so much it frightened him. He liked him so much that the thought that Eames was just waiting for him to screw up... It left him feeling raw inside. And what did it say about him, that when he was willing to take a step forward, he looked like he was taking one back? Just another example of how terrible he was at this. "I don't want anything," he said, staring at the ground and forcing the words out. "We shouldn't have tried anything. I knew-" he swallowed, but this was for the best, it would hurt less now, "I knew this wouldn't work. This was too fast."

Fuck, this hurt way more without the anger, on the heels of almost stepping out and moving forward. But Arthur would rather shut Eames out now than wait for this to end even more miserably.

"You don't want anything?" Eames sighed. "At all? I mean- ah fuck. I don't want to influence your decision. But you said you wanted - you were okay with telling-" he shut his eyes for a second. "If you - if you don't want to continue, I would." Another halt. "I would accept that. However my offer of help still stands as does the one of partnership. I'm sorry I pushed myself on... to you. If you didn't want that."

"Was. I was okay with it, or I would have been if you had wanted to, but you decided to make me feel like I was the one with the hang ups. Well at least I can admit mine upfront," Arthur said with unfair bitterness. Because Eames could apologize and claim he hadn't meant what he said, but Eames had confirmed Arthur's fears. If Eames didn't have any confidence in him... even after last night when he'd trusted Eames absolutely... Did Eames even realize? Arthur would have done anything Eames asked, would have let Eames do anything he wanted. He'd been lucky Eames had been respectful of his boundaries, because Arthur doubted he would have protested.

There was too much invested in this conversation and Arthur forced himself to take a mental step back. He had more important issues than another failed relationship. "Help me get in touch with Renate Kinsley without being detected, consider it payment for helping with the repairs." If anyone would help him, it would be her.

"Deal," Eames nodded, putting his hand out, head still ducked slightly.

Arthur couldn't mask the wounded expression, the tightness in his chest. But all Eames had ever said was that he wanted Arthur to stay, that he was attracted. Arthur felt that way too but it didn't mean he wanted or was ready for a serious relationship. Eames hadn't even used the word, they hadn't agreed to anything other than a nebulous phrase of 'trying' which seemed to mean they acted exactly the same and added sex. Arthur didn't know what that meant. They'd jumped into this thing while forced to depend on each other. Arthur couldn't be sure what was 'relationship' and what was a product of being cramped in a small tent on some forgotten little planet. "A little specificity would have been helpful," he said before reigning himself in and shaking the offered hand. He'd made his own mistakes that morning and, if he'd been more in control of himself last night, maybe this wouldn't be happening. He couldn't think like that: this was the right call. Eames needed someone he could feel confident in. Arthur wasn't that person. And it was a good thing Eames was still looking down, because Arthur's eyes were actually growing wet. He cleared his throat, a pained sound, and slipped out, explaining as he went, "I need to talk to Yusuf."

Arthur knocked on the metal slate that passed for a door, and worked on putting himself back together before Yusuf could answer the knock. The doctor only took a moment, and after Arthur had assured him there was no emergency he was allowed inside. He was quick to cut to business: once they got Yusuf out into the ';Verse, he needed him to create a death certificate. If he could convince the Alliance he was dead, that would eliminate a lot of pressure. Yusuf was more willing to say that Arthur had died in the crash and collect on the reward for that information.

It could work. Davis was enough of a lazy bastard to accept the word of a doctor and some circumstantial evidence. He let Yusuf collect a blood sample as part of it, and collaborated on how to stage a few pictures in one of the wrecks in the scrapyard. But Yusuf insisted Arthur get dinner first, leading them out to the kitchens.

Arthur spotted Eames first, though he pretended not to for as long as he reasonably could. Yusuf either didn't notice or didn't care as he led Arthur over, no doubt confident Eames would have him fed while Yusuf waited in line. Arthur had little choice but to take a seat where Eames had set a plate unless he wanted to ensure Ariadne would be back on their case, so he did.

He was surprised to be welcomed as warmly as he was by the others, but conversation was quick to pick back up about luxuries made available again. Yusuf was back with his own plate and before Arthur could argue otherwise, Yusuf was inviting Eames along.

"Arthur and I were going to borrow some stage make up, should Morena have any, and fake a few pictures to put an end to the manhunt. Could use your help in making me a wealthier man," he told Eames.

"You'd deserve it," Eames agreed easily. "And come now, all you have to do is dip him in some dust and get some black torn clothes. Also you can't blow up the ship for realism's sake, I'll have to call that."

"The black is good, but I still think blood at the temple would be a nice touch if we can do it," Yusuf said, smiling, "it'll be dark enough that there's hardly a need to worry about how realistic the paint looks."

"Rigging an explosion would take more resources and preparation than I'm willing to devote, and it would be far more dangerous than useful." Arthur said dryly. No one had suggested it, and Arthur thought it was a little strange that Eames had brought it up. Was it an attempt at humor? "There is a partially excavated cockpit, if we angle the photographs correctly, no one would know the difference and it would look as though I'd piloted the ship. With Yusuf's input, the Alliance will assume I was the only one on the ship, and that reports from Nash were as full of faulty intelligence and missed details as they usually are."

The front of that ship had been smashed in and rolled onto its side, the most difficult part would be getting himself into the pilot's seat. But other than that it was ideal. Similar enough to Eames' ship, and damaged enough that it would have been a miracle if he had survived. Eames should know the one now that Arthur had given him more detail. Arthur could care less about the make-up, but he supposed covering his face in gashes would be more convincing than unscathed.

Arthur began to pick at his food as the conversation wore on, feeling decidedly not hungry, but he wanted to deal with Yusuf and Eames' concerns over his eating habits even less than he wanted to eat.

If Eames gave them no reason to connect the two of them, the fewer questions he'd be asked and the less likely it was that anyone would look too closely. Yusuf would handle it and a had agreed to give Arthur a portion of the gains in cash as soon as it was safe to do so.

It was what Eames and Yusuf were discussing at the moment and Arthur gave up on picking at his food as soon as they ironed out the most pertinent details. He pushed the remainder of his food towards the center of the table for anyone to grab. He just needed Eames and Yusuf to finish, and Yusuf had agreed to be the one to go to Morena, so it was now a matter of waiting.

Eames pushed his plate aside as well. Standing, he took the bag from under Arthur's seat. "Are you showering first or staging?"

"Staging," Arthur said, frowning at Eames barely touched plate. But he wasn't sure what he could say considering his own eating habits of late, and he was even less sure of making it a public spectacle. The fact he'd eaten more wouldn't be enough to entirely avoid flak if he did make an issue of it. He let Eames take the bag, hopeful it meant he was going off to shower.

"Better see about that make-up," Yusuf said, departing quickly.

Arthur didn't see a reason to announce he was going to change into a black shirt, so he didn't as he rose from the table and headed for the tent. If there was indistinct whispering as he left, Arthur told himself he didn't care.

Arthur met with Yusuf at the transport and the drive was short even though Yusuf made a mention of how little they'd both eaten. He dropped it soon enough when Arthur promised to eat something later and get Eames to eat too. After that brief discussion, silence reigned and they kept it to staging the pictures.

Yusuf painted on the injuries and helped dirty the clothes before Arthur climbed carefully into the crushed cockpit and did his best to strap in and keep still as Yusuf took a few photographs. They headed back once it was past sunset and Yusuf reminded him of his promise as they made their way to their temporary homes.

Arthur stepped inside quietly to find the rucksack, pausing when he noticed the beds were pushed further apart. Just a couple of inches for lack of room but... He sucked in a breath and refused to feel anything.

Eames was already half asleep without him even in the room- and fuck. Arthur didn't have the right to be upset with him for it, but it still stung, and he left without a word to shower off the painted blood and dirt. It didn't take long, with only a few people ahead. Will being one of them. They made polite conversation until his neck became visible and Arthur noticed the smirk. It twisted his gut, but Will fortunately took his reaction as one born out of embarrassment and prudishness and left it alone.

Arthur was the last to finish and he headed back as it grew nearly too dark to see. He set the bag down, a bit nosily, using the fact that he'd promised Yusuf he'd have Eames eat to assuage his guilt at interrupting sleep.

Eames didn't move from his position on his stomach, head turned towards the entrance and one hand hanging down between the beds. Arthur started to grow concerned, that should have roused him. Eames hadn't so much as stirred. Arthur hurried to the bed, crawling onto it to check Eames' pulse. He relaxed only slightly when he found it within normal range. He should get Yusuf, fuck, was it pain killers, how many were missing? Arthur hastily moved to the nightstand, to the twin bottles of pills and only then realized it wasn't the ibuprofen. It was the sleep aid. Arthur slumped and let out a shaky breath. Eames was fine, just chemically asleep. So much for getting him to eat. Why did he even think that- No he knew why. Eames wasn't him though and Arthur was thankful for it.

Arthur moved to the edge of the bed and removed his shoes. If Eames had taken one, Arthur shouldn't. One of them should be alert, it wasn't in Arthur to leave both of them that vulnerable, regardless of how 'safe' Black Rock was. He picked up the bag of mixed nuts and dried fruit and forced himself to stomach a couple of handfuls while he did a little research, checking in on Kinsley. She was home, only a few days from Hera, Arthur was certain she'd not only be able to help, but she would be willing. With that reassurance he tried to force himself to sleep.

By the time Eames shifted, slowly waking, Arthur was already wide awake. Had been since his nightmare several hours ago. He'd grown used to Eames waking with him and offering a distraction, or a comfort, but the aid had kept Eames sound asleep and Arthur had pulled himself together while ignoring the unjustified ache. Eames shifted, and Arthur figured if Eames was up he should be too. He rose from the bed and stepped into his shoes without a word. His movements weren't as sharp as they would have been, and he kept his face angled away.

"We can probably start loading the mattress up," Eames said as Arthur went through with his morning routine.

"Will said he would help, you'll be putting enough strain on your shoulder with the boxes." When he was done washing his face he picked up the pad while Eames dealt with the sheets. "Should probably give this back."

"Probably. During breakfast. Here's to hoping either of those three has their IdentCard or remembers their credentials."

"You plan on eating this time?"

"Are you?" Eames asked testily, moving towards the sink.

Arthur didn't rise to the hostility, too tired and subdued to muster the energy to come up with a retort. "I will if you will," he offered. He may have been the one to end things, but he wasn't as unaffected as he would have preferred. And after watching Mal carve him open again that night, Arthur couldn't say he was looking to argue with Eames. He would still rather wait until they had the extra set of hands before moving anything out to the trailer that was thankfully already hitched and unloaded.

Eames rinsed his face, putting the toothbrush away in the box with a clack after he wiped it off, afterwards doing the same with his face. "Deal," he mumbled, looking down at his hands as he folded up the towel as well, tossing it into its box, then stooping to upend the garbage into the bag, tying that off, and letting it sit. "We should get started," he gestured to the mattress.

This was miserable, and he sighed quietly. "Do you have a problem with Will? Is there a legitimate reason this can't wait until there is another person without a shoulder injury, because I'd rather work with them." He wouldn't be worried about Eames shoulder if Will was the one on the other end of the mattress, and perhaps he was being overly cautious, but the nightmare had stuck with him, and he just wanted Eames to be safe and healthy. He couldn't help that he was on the verge of pleading, his tone already shifted that way.

"Oh for godsakes. What other brilliant ideas do you have for us to do then? Can't touch the mattress, can't touch the boxes - I would have thought you of all people would be all for doing something productive now that we're awake and all."

"Not all of us got sleep last night, okay? I am too tired to do this and worry about you!" he said, matching Eames' exasperation, and then quieting, "Don't, just don't." He was exhausted and he felt more alone than he ever had. He';d been with Eames for less than a month, why was he taking it this hard?

"Why didn't you-" Eames started, angry, before deflating. "Go ahead. And stop. Worrying about me that is."

And there was the bitterness. "Well, you can't solve everything for me," he said, wry smile. "And trust me, if I could stop caring, I would." He was being a dick, he knew he was, but Eames had torn him apart in one phrase. It was hard to not to lash out since he couldn't shield himself.

"Yeah, then why?"

"Why what?" Arthur demanded, picking up the pad he needed to return to Morena. He'd already answered a why, what more did Eames want? Why was he still standing here, why was he having this conversation? Those were some good why's, but he didn't have the answer.

"Why did you agree to this? Why is it that you care but you'd rather leave? What is it that's required of me to get you to stay?"

"Because I can't do this! We're going to get hurt. You think I don't care, which means I am once again fucking things up. Once again I'm not doing enough, so rather than draw this out I decided to cut my losses," Arthur said. "Rather than waste another second of my life thinking you actually wanted to help me... message received, but I want you to remember I never asked you to solve anything for me. You were the one that insisted I talk to you!" He pursed his lips trying to summon composure. "I'm not going to be the villain here, when you were the one that assured me you didn't need gestures, when you were the one that insisted I come to you with problems- do you have any idea how hard it was to talk about them? For you to act like I shoved them onto you..."

He inhaled, fighting back tremors born of hurt and indignation. "Don't put this on me, when you're the one with requirements. I'm obviously not what you're looking for, and I'm not going to be demonized for it."

"You're not the villain. You're not. I want to help you and you can come to me with problems. I'm sorry if I ever refused you." Eames held up his hands. "This all started when the possibility of someone finding out about our relationship became real. I was unsure of what you wanted, if you wanted to wait or tell the world. I couldn't even be sure if I should trust myself to insist it was all real - sex is just that, as you've said and you've accused me of influencing you before. I don't trust myself enough even insinuate the direction I want us to go in and when I try to second guess you, I always fall flat." He looked down at his palms turning them to face upwards. "Which is what I meant I couldn't solve, not without any input from you. What do you really think of me, want from me, Arthur? Do I include you in my foreseeable, and not so, future?"

Arthur shifted from angered to stunned as he realized the colossal misunderstanding. That they had both been in a vulnerable place that morning and had sought reassurance. He looked away. "I've told you I care about you, and if that's something you need me to tell you over and over... Eames, I'm not that guy. I told you that too. I wish I was," Arthur said, holding himself together with threads. "But what I want doesn't matter." He wanted Eames. That was all. He wanted Eames to be happy, healthy and safe, with him and him alone.

"You don't need to tell me again and again, just the once, but what you want matters, alright?" Eames took a cautious step forward, keeping his hands by his side. "To me, it matters more than what I want. Even when we have fucking spectacular arguments, I'll look for where I went wrong, what it was I did that you didn't want. Just because this is so fragile, I will look everywhere I can to try and fix it but I can't read your mind, I can only guess at what you want and there's no way I'm not selfish enough to just jump on the first thing that coincides with mine, because even though I care for you a whole damn lot doesn't mean I can't smother you. Do you get that?"

Arthur remained still as Eames stepped closer, the words, the assurances sending his defenses crumbling. "It's not just about me, if I ask what you want, you need trust me enough to answer." The words sunk in further, and he tried to keep the awed confusion and the fact he was caving, "You really want this? Even..."

"I do want this. I want you. I want you more than I've wanted anyone I can remember. With no ifs or evens." Eames put his hands on Arthur's shoulders, gently taking another step forward. "Whatever you want to know you can ask. Just stay, please."

Arthur closed his eyes, let out a breath, and opened them, and still remained where he was. "Eames..." It was so easy to give in, to let himself bask in it, but they kept doing this. Arguing and coming back, arguing and coming back. "We don't work. We rushed into this, and it's just this place... being forced to rely on each other... what makes you think any of this is real? There are people out there much better for you - this is too soon. You want me more than anyone? Eames, you hardly know me, and what you have seen has been just... Awful."

"And what, you think the past couple of hours have been better? Avoiding each other like the plague? It hurt enough for me to press it again, which is how I know, at the very least, it's not fake." Eames sighed as well, pausing but not letting go. "As for hardly knowing each other, that is so very, very arguable. In the beginning, perhaps, but now? Alright, take one step back. Not ten. Take your time. But don't just up and leave."

"I have to avoid you, look what happens when I don't! We argue and end up right back where we were only to do it again. I need more than a step Eames, I need this to stop. I wouldn't 'up and leave' if I didn't have to, but if I don't..." He gave a pointed looked to Eames' hands on his shoulders before gently pushing the left one off with his free hand. "I shouldn't have agreed, I knew I wasn't ready, and for that I am sorry, but it's a mistake I can fix. Eames, I... care about you, but I don't want a relationship. Respect that."

It was far more civil than the last attempt at ending things, but it still hurt, and this time there wasn't anger to soothe the ache in his chest. It would fade, given time and distance.

Eames took his both hands back and shoved them in his pockets. "There's still the next couple of days, we shouldn't make them awkward. There's no reason not to be friends. But keep in touch after that, yeah? Else I'll worry."

Arthur couldn't refuse him that. Eames had shown that he would be there for him regardless of their status, and that was more than reassuring. And that just made it harder. But maybe, maybe when his head was clearer and when he knew what he was doing... "Yeah. Once I've got the means, I'll keep in contact."

He turned to go, took a step, and then turned to face Eames again. "...thank you. You've been," Arthur couldn't find a suitable word, so he scrapped the thought, "thank you."

Eames smirked. "Well don't thank me yet. We're not off the planet. Now will you help me carry the mattress when you come back or still no?"

There was a lot Arthur had to be thankful for even if they never made it off this planet, but all he gave was a small smile of gratitude. And he was glad to see Eames smiling too, even though it was only a fraction as bright as he was used to. "We'll see," he teased as he finally left, heading towards Morena's home to return the pad. It was still early, but not so unholy an hour that Arthur felt badly for waking her, and she certainly didn't guilt him for it. She'd greeted him with a fond look and kindly refused to take the pad back, stating if he and Eames got her off this planet the device was the least she could give in return.

Arthur thanked her, and made his way back to the tent as some of the morning crowd gathered near the kitchens. Morena, or he supposed anyone in their motley little crew must have told the residents that the departure was set for today, because he was met with smiles and offers to help load up the trailer. Offers he didn't turn down, especially since the beds were now separated and all evidence was out of sight.

He lead the small group towards the tent, sparing a moment to duck in first. "Looks like Will isn't the only one that wants to help."

Eames rubbed his forehead, looking around the tent. "Well that's great but it's not only our stuff that needs moving and the tent entrance is only so big. Let's get the labor organized first."

"Your grasp of the obvious is impeccable, Eames," Arthur said, and then grimaced as he followed him out. It may have been too early for sarcasm, but he hadn't intended for it to be harsh. Slightly annoyed perhaps, but not harsh. He let Eames divide the labor, though he would have been content to hand each of them one of their boxes while he and someone besides Eames did the mattress and _then_ pack everyone else up. It wasn't as though Eames' plan wouldn't work, Arthur would have just preferred to have a little more oversight as to how the trailer was loaded. He would just have to check that everyone used common sense before they left for Rook.

The done, Arthur nodded their aids inside, telling one of them to grab the box of clothes and the other to help him with the mattress after he spoke to Eames. "Mind packing the food? Morena said a few days worth can be spared." Eames would be the best judge of how much they would need and what should be taken.

"Ah, food yes." Eames made a beeline for the kitchens.

The mattress wasn't difficult to maneuver, especially since he wasn't contending with an injured shoulder at the other end. He was a caught off guard when Jasmine turned up with her mattress not long after his was loaded up. Evidently she was an early riser and had already been planning to move her stuff, she'd just needed extra hands. They didn't waste time on small talk, only nodding politely to each other when they happened to meet at the trailer. Will and Ariadne turned up later and were more chatty, and Arthur contented himself with rearranging boxes as he listened to their casual conversation. If Ariadne noticed the marks healing on his neck, she made no mention of them for once.

Will and Ariadne wandered in the direction of the kitchens while Arthur and Jasmine double checked that everything was in place and secured, and Arthur found that speaking with Ariadne had livened her up considerably. She made small talk with him as they made their way to the line and spoke fondly of a more rounded diet than the one here. Arthur conceded he missed a certain quality of food as well.

There were mixed feelings in watching Eames interact with friendly faces and over enthusiastic children, longing and doubt, but there was relief as well. Arthur was genuinely glad that Eames was smiling and happy, but it was hard to watch him and not want him. So he didn't. He engaged himself in his own conversations with excited residents, and while he wasn't as expressive as Eames, his own mood lightened. Breakfast was eaten in its entirety, because he'd agreed to it and he trusted Eames to keep his end of the deal, and he excused himself to consult Yusuf. They let him through, and he found Yusuf in line with a plate half-full.

"I wanted to ask if there were more of your sleep aids," he said. If they went back to separate rooms on Rook, Eames would need them, and Arthur was willing to deal with any alerts that might come through. Arthur wasn't sure what Eames would do afterwards, but if nothing else the option was there. Assuming Yusuf had any more, there was every possibility he'd given all he had time to make.

"I don't have anymore, most of my supplies were used up for the trial and error phase," Yusuf sighed. "There should be enough there for another week or so, hopefully the rescue will come through by then and if you come find me I should have more in a day or so."

Arthur gave his thanks, and made his way back to the kitchens to see what Eames had managed to finish and what he could do to help. It seemed rice and some of the food that had been pulled from Rook earlier would be making it back onboard. He counted up what was already pack and tried to figure portions as best he could. He knew he ate lighter than some and tried to factor that in as he added a few more cans, things he thought would go with what Eames already had packed.

He took up a box to carry and watched as everyone else picked up the rest and ferried the supplies to the trailer. He did another check on the trailer, and gestured they were ready to head out, both vehicles in use. Excited cheers were heard even into the woods, and conversation continued in the transport, jovial and easy.

When they got to Rook, Arthur and Will, as well as Marcus and Han, who had volunteered to help and bring the transports back, took to unloading enough boxes to get to the mattresses. The first three laid they out in the corner of the cargo bay and the other they brought into the spare room Arthur had previously occupied what felt like lifetimes ago. The rest was ferried inside quickly, Han and Marcus even offering to help unpack Eames' things once the food was stored away.

"So who gets the other room?" Jasmine asked once they were more or less set.

"I'm in the control room, my mattress is still up there. Otherwise, there's room for another bed in that room as well as a shower, and that's up for you all to decide how you're going about it, dividing girls and boys or whatever you'd rather," Eames answered from the top of the stairs, coming down with Han and Marcus in tow. "Or just have a great big slumber party, works for me. How does lunch sound for now?"

"Lunch, lunch please," Ariadne insisted, and Arthur was inclined to agree if only because he wasn't looking forward to bringing another mattress upstairs. Will looked to Jasmine, asking, "You and Ariadne want to take the room?" He received a gracious smile in return and 'duh' look from Ariadne, followed quickly by a continuing demand that lunch came first.

"I'll get more water," Arthur offered, trotting back upstairs to the kitchen where the extra gallons had been brought.

Arthur returned with a crate filled with neatly stacked cups and two jugs of water, something he regretted as he made his way downstairs. Eames and the others working to set up the table, a cloth thrown over one of the bigger boxes and containers of food being passed around.

Once everyone was settled, Eames pried open a can of pineapples he'd procured from somewhere and set it in the center of the table for everyone to get at. The resulting small commotion seemed to amuse him. The rest of the food was typical, dried fruit, nuts and crackers but the resulting meal was rather sweet, certainly an improvement over bland and a nice energy boost. Clean up didn't take long, and then Arthur was kept occupied with arranging the bedroom. Ariadne and Jasmine had agreed there wasn't much unpacking to do if they were only here for a couple of days. Leaving their possessions in boxes meant it would be that much easier to get them off Rook. Arthur left them to it, returning downstairs to help Will secure the cargo just in case.

Will kept sending odd, sympathetic looks that Arthur wasn't certain of, but Will never said anything so Arthur didn't either as they finished. Afterwards he went to find Eames, to ensure Rook was ready to break atmo.

Everything seemed to be ship shape as far as Eames was concerned. The welds either broke or they didn't. There wasn't much else to do. Arthur nodded and left to ensure everyone found a seat to strap into before heading back up to secure himself in the emergency seat in the cockpit. He had Jasmine near the engine room, but he didn't foresee any problems there, and while there were more comfortable seating options in other areas of the ship, Arthur wanted to be here.

He'd already briefed Ariadne that they'd be using her codes, and as soon as they were within signaling range she'd be at the console with her card.

"Taking off in five," Eames paged on the speakers and the ship rumbled to life.

Up they went. The engines blasted downwards, rustling the trees. Eames mindlessly ran a hand across the dashboard before pulling the steering upwards, the treeline receding from sight as they climbed higher. He tilted the engines and they pushed forward and up, zooming cleanly over the village within seconds. Arthur vaguely wondered how many others were named Black Rock.

For a couple of minutes they rose steadily out of the atmosphere, metal creaking as it heated up slightly. Within another ten minutes, almost all sound but his breathing ceased. "And we're clear."

\------

"Arthur told me you needed this, think it'll work still?" Ariadne asked as she strode over. "And I just want you to know it's been killing me not to ask what is going on between you and Arthur, just wanted you to know."

"They don't have expiration dates and it's less suspicious than the encryption I put on the ship's console. But good, keep at it, not asking is good for building character." Eames let her through to the screen, letting her punch in the code. "You can call your parents first if you want, and I'll handle alerting the authorities and all that rot." It was probably better if he removed himself from the console's view, as well. Parents of a missing daughter would not take well to a stranger, he imagined.

"Well, I have been missing for a while... And if you need to talk to someone that's not Arthur about stuff..." she offered and then told Eames she did want to call her parents, get herself a ride back home. She also added that Arthur had asked her to pass along a message to a woman named Renate, a message that made no sense to her but she'd written it down dutifully.

Eames took the piece of paper, leveling it with a glare. "Oh, he's not going to come do it himself is he?" He couldn't say who this Renate was or where to find her, and he'd read the piece of paper later, for now settling on being angry at Arthur for being either lazy or purposefully avoiding him. He would be making enough calls as he was. As for talking, there was no point in that. Even if he wanted to, he'd have to tell her the whole story and let the only person who didn't think they were together know that they were and now weren't. They had reached a civil agreement with Arthur. That was more than enough.

"This is for me, and it's not like Arthur can do it himself. That's what he said, that they'd be screening for his face. He said he didn't want you to make the call either as precaution, but even he admitted it would be a long shot for them to connect you two." She sighed through her nose.

"Hope this lady friend of his is trusting enough to go by your word alone." Eames relinquished the piece of paper, taking a seat on his bed, kicking up his feet. He figured he could have used the encrypted connection to call whoever it was but whatever Arthur wanted. As it was, he would stay in the cockpit and mind his own business, mostly waiting for his turn, or something to go wrong so he could fix it.

Ariadne dialed out, growing anxious as she waited for one of her parents to pick up. The overhead screen came to life and her mother's voice filled the room with a curious 'hello?' before her mother recognized her and let out a scream.

"Mom," Ariadne choked, already tearing up, shaking and trying to hold together, as her mom started openly sobbing and calling out for her dad, and he stumbled into view. Ariadne gave in and let herself be overwhelmed, "I'm coming home, I'm coming home," she repeated, voice warbling. It took several minutes to gather herself enough to say anything meaningful. She explained everything in brief, pointing to Eames when it came up. They showered him in thanks, but the presence of their daughter was too much to neglect for long.

It would be nice, to have that sort of welcome, but Eames supposed anyone would be glad of the return of someone that was lost. Someone who had run away, however, didn't get quite so happy a greeting. Still, he wasn't going to interrupt them, Ariadne knew there were more calls to make but they had a good 50 hours to do so. It would probably be best to call up Hera as soon as possible, but for now they were circling the planet, hoping to get a nice easy slingshot out of its gravity, fuel, if not time, economy.

It was thirty minutes until Ariadne finally said goodbye but by then she had their promises to be there to pick her up, and anyone else that needed a ride. They'd rent out a truck if they had to, anything.

"Ah, sorry about that," she said, trying to laugh off her tears as she wiped her face, "I, uh, didn't realize... well. Now you've seen me cry, so, even?" She took a deep breath, and then another, before she got out of the chair.

Eames sat up, chuckling this time and making his way over to muss Ariadne's hair, not really helping her get look any more put together. "I guess so but at least those are tears of happiness." Ariadne tried to give Eames a stern look, but couldn't, so she settled for fixing her hair and very quickly rinsing her face.

"Do you wanna make your calls while I make myself a little more presentable for Arthur's friend and the 'Verse in general?"

"Of course."

Sitting down in her spot, Eames hailed the main post on Hera, hoping it wasn't someone he knew on duty. But thankfully time was on his side: a lot had changed in five years and it was some young officer. "Morning, or whatever it is down planets side. This is Oliver Morino reporting a little bit of a crash landing on an uncharted planet. Round about a thousand people, if not more," counting all the villages there probably were besides the one that had found them, "fancy getting me the guy in charge?" The cadet looked so spooked he forwarded him almost immediately.

As it turned out there were rumors going around about crashes, signals going out right on the orbit where they were now. Eames congratulated them on finding it - explaining the whole situation as they rounded the planet. He couldn't say how many people were on the surface exactly but it was a small planet, detectable only by heat sensor. Nothing else left the planet but that. Hopefully that would be enough to get the bureaucracy to start working and some ships be sent out, at least. Anything that would go out investigating would be able carry at least a hundred people. He sat back, looking to Ariadne. He still had a couple calls to make, mostly to repair shops but this had taken a long enough time. "Ready?"

She made her way back to the chair when he was done. "Yeah, I'm good now. Though, 'Oliver Morino'?" She laughed before pulling out the paper.

"Don't make fun of my mother's maiden name," Eames griped, mostly joking. "I'll need something that's passable for a resident's name, don't I, hailing the coppers for once in my life. Never thought I'd do that." He stood, letting Ariadne sit and retreating back to the bed. Hopefully it would all go well for her and for Arthur in turn. He'd hate to leave him without any options.

Ariadne dropped into the seat and sent the wave, waiting only a few moments before a pleasant looking woman close to Arthur's age answered. "Hello? Who's this?" she asked, more curious than suspicious. Ariadne looked down at the script and read off of it, telling Renate Kinsley that her friend had lost a pair of blue shoes on the farm, the ones with black laces, while collecting eggs. It was a rather strange story, with odd details, obviously code. Renate furrowed her brow in thought.

"He would remember all that shit," she mumbled, "hang on," another pause, longer,

"Fuck it. two weeks, just tell him I'll help him find his stupid shoes in two weeks. Thanks kid," and she ended the transmission.

Ariadne looked at Eames. "I guess she's helping?"

"I'm more amused by the image of Arthur, shoeless, collecting eggs on a farm." If he had a reference point to go off of he'd like a try at breaking the code but it was personal and Eames supposed he should leave it well enough alone. Two weeks though. They'd be planetside in two days - hopefully Arthur had a plan for that. And Eames would still help, hurt and sigh with the best of the weepy heroines, but he would. His mind helpfully brought up the image of Arthur collecting eggs again and he snorted. "Well, alright, you can go tell Arthur his news. And ask if anyone else has phone calls to make, by the way. The rest I can do on my own card though, so you're free to roam the wide pastures of this ship or goof off or whatnot."

Ariadne laughed along before getting up from the chair with her card and enveloping Eames in a hug. Eames snorted but ruffled her hair again for good measure. They were only halfway there. But it was better than nothing, even if they had to tiptoe over the finish line.

\-----

"So two weeks, huh? What are you going to do without your shoes for that long?"

"Stay off the farm," Arthur answered, half sure Eames hadn't figured it out and merely found it amusing, but the other half very aware of how frighteningly intelligent and perceptive Eames could be, he changed the subject, "I actually wanted to talk to you about those two weeks. Until Yusuf reports my death to the Alliance, I don't have the resources to rent a hotel room. I can repay you once I have my share of the reward, but I'll need you to put me up somewhere."

He still had the Milton IdentCard, the accounts may have been gone, but in a place like Hera, and most of the Border and Outer Rim planets, a physical card was all that was necessary and a check was run only if the person were suspicious. Arthur would just have to do his best not to seem suspicious.

"Yeah, I can try. Not exactly full of resources myself, especially with all the damages needing paying for. Hold on one second, being hailed," Eames waved a hand, indicating that their conversation wasn't over. It was an Alliance hail, but unless Arthur stuck his face over Eames' shoulder, he wouldn't be seen.

"Mr. Morino?" A pause. "Wait, no, aren't you Eames' kid?"

"Yup," Eames conveniently muted the display before the next word left the officer's mouth. Was that a first name? "Look, Pav, I'd love to catch up and all but that's later and not on this sort of frequency. As for now I'm giving you guys all the information I know. Crash landed myself so that's not much. Alls I know is that we've got a small, invisible planet of survivors; crashes have been happening for years. Tell them to send a cruiser, those things can hold a city and have perfectly functional medical bays, and that there are going to be commendations making their rounds. My ship'll give you the approximate size and current orbit position, try not to crash when you get here."

The officer sighed and tucked the corner of his mouth. "Not that I don't appreciate you doing this, son, but there's something you gotta know about your father..."

"Dead?"

"No, but-"

"Then that's all I need to know. Thanks, Pav, we'll catch up later - send a gorram ship first." Eames cut off the call, sighing. "Anyway, I'm sure we'll figure something out, it'll depend on who's still around the old homeworld. I still have a couple of favors that I could pull. Won't leave you hanging, that's for sure."

"You don't want to know what's going on with your father?" Arthur asked, "Or do you want me to leave so you can call back?" He believed Eames would do his best to find accommodations, or give Arthur the means to find his own accommodations, but it would have to wait until closer to touchdown. Unless Eames wanted to start calling around now.

"No, I really don't. S'not dead and that's all that matters. Eleven out of ten we'll be running into him at some point: I'll find out from the horse's mouth. Was there... Anything else?"

Arthur considered making a comment. He'd want to know before he arrived on Hera of there were problems, and he'd definitely want to know if those problems were related to his father, but saying so seemed cruel. He didn't know anything about Eames' relationship with is father, other than it was strained, and he really didn't have any right to push him. He hoped it wasn't bad news.

"I guess you like surprises more than I do," and he let it drop, it wasn't his business until Eames made it his business. "Just let me know when you find me something." He started to leave, lingering made things hard, he wasn't unaffected by the abrupt end even if he'd been the one to decide it. "And if you want to use the sleep aids, let me know." It had scared him, coming back to find Eames completely unresponsive. He hadn't even been stirred by Arthur's muffled screaming later in the night.

"I'll be fine. It cancels out too much. I need to at least hear."

Arthur opened his mouth to explain he was more than willing to pilot the ship in Eames' absence, or if Eames was more comfortable, let Will fly it while Eames sleep soundly in the cargo hold. They'd figure something out. But Eames had already swiveled the chair and started dialing, Arthur frowned and waited.

The first call didn't get answered and Eames puttered about on the console for a bit. He probably realized the time in Yartis was closer to midnight. "Yeah?" he asked as he noticed that Arthur was still there. "If this is about the pills, I'll be fine. The ship doesn't need much direction but if anything so much as creaks wrong in the engine room, I need to know. If I take sleeping pills, that will be impossible, as we have found," he explained, shrugging most of the weight off the statement. "At ease, soldier, this is not my first rodeo."

"You do realize you have a qualified mechanic and pilot, and someone who is at least familiar with both roles to take over. We can handle it, you'll need sleep eventually," Arthur said, "It's called delegating and even I do it. If you didn't wake up, it means you slept well, and if we're not sharing a bed..." a thought that still felt strangely foreign despite years of sleeping alone, "I'd like to know you're still getting sleep."

Arthur knew it was ridiculous, but he still felt responsible for Eames' rest. And he wouldn't hesitate to share the bed if Eames needed it, but he knew it wouldn't be good for them. They needed this to break cleanly and stop blurring the lines between friends and romantic partners if they could.

"I do but... I'll live," Eames said, dismissive. "I have before you came along, you know. Sometimes even with a full night's sleep."

That cinched it. Eames had been fine before meeting Arthur, better off even, though now he could, and by all rights should, return to his usual habits, his _life_. Arthur's face turned to stone, blocking out any visible expression of sorrow or regret. "Of course," he offered blandly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then rethought it and settled on: "Ariadne said Kinsley seemed fine, but you're better with people. How... how was she, do you think?"

And Arthur was fully aware Eames had probably only seen a few seconds of her, hadn't even been the one to speak to her, but Arthur hadn't seen her in years except through records. He hoped she was happy, she'd married and had two girls... He hoped that after everything she was well.

"She's fine as far as a two minute conversation goes," Eames answered. "There was a joke in the conversation and aside from her being a bit worried by the message, she seems to be a perfectly functioning adult. As far as getting ready in the morning and being only curious, not hostile, to a call from a stranger."

Arthur let out a small sigh of relief, granted it was only a few minutes worth of conversation, but if Eames had been able to glean something... And then Arthur had to admit he was lingering; a part of him wanting to soak up what time he had left with Eames and the other part desperate for distance.

"Good to hear," he said, and turned to leave. If he didn't have a reason to be around Eames, he probably shouldn't be, though after spending all their days and nights together it was difficult not to miss Eames' presence.

"Dinner's going to be soon."

Arthur nodded his head to indicate he'd heard as he slipped out of the control room. He couldn't say he was terribly hungry, but he would eat if Eames ate. He was honestly more tired than anything, between the labor and the emotional turmoil he felt exhausted, but he sought out Ariadne instead of his bed. He had questions about Yartis, and Hera, things that it was better to ask a local than to research, though the the two were far exclusive and he would find time later to look up certain information.

Ariadne seemed happy to fill him in on the wonders of Hera in general, and her hometown specifically. She mentioned good restaurants and stores, how friendly the people were, the freedom. There wasn't much of an Alliance presence, and the planet wasn't wealthy enough for the security cameras found in the Core. There were a few, but locally owned and operated. Good news for Arthur, who listened dutifully to everything Ariadne had to say.

Jasmine and Will had a few things to say about Hera as the smell and sound lured everyone towards the kitchen. The table would still be crowded, but not as badly as it would have been with seven people trying to fit. Arthur listened attentively, asking a few questions on social norms and how not to stand out. Around the port it wouldn't be too usual, and even small towns had visitors. A tourist wouldn't attract too much attention, but Arthur made a note to speak to Eames about a cover story. He tried to tell himself he needed Eames' input, that it wasn't because he was looking for an excuse to interact.

Conversation shifted, their voices got louder as topics turned to planet-wide events, sports and politics. Arthur didn't mind fading to the background as he listened. It was interesting to hear about politics at this level, to hear people impassioned and analyzing issues instead of dropping money into a fundraiser and attending a dinner simply to make an appearance and prove they had influence. It reminded him of long nights inside sleeping bags, around heated lanterns and campfires. But he didn't feel like a part of it, and so he slipped away from the table when he thought no one would notice and quietly headed downstairs to occupy his time doing something more useful.

Arthur was content to spend at least the rest of what would pass for evening researching and finding a workaround for the Cortex restrictions. He wasn't able to do much, he'd need access to Eames' console for that and Arthur wasn't ready to speak to him just yet, still warring with himself over whether he actually did need to consult Eames or not. Truthfully, there wasn't much he'd need to say. He could easily pose as someone Eames rescued, and was simply working on the means of getting back home.

He didn't anticipate being questioned or detained under suspicion. He could handle giving a statement, and if they searched Arthur Milton and found no electronic fingerprints, he could claim to have been born on one of the Outer Rim worlds which were notorious for poor record keeping.

Will made an appearance, stepping lightly towards his things to get a pack of cards while trying get Arthur talking again. It was a brief effort followed by an invitation to cards before Will headed back up to Ariadne and Jasmine. Arthur continued to prep himself, but there was only so much he could do when Kinsley hadn't given an indication of what he needed to be doing. He was only whiling away the hours, and he could admit it to himself.

It wasn't until everyone seemed to mutually turn in that Arthur diverted his attention from the pad. It had been a long day, and everyone had their limits. Will seemed to fall asleep in an instant, which Arthur resented more than he should, but not enough to bother him with fruitless tossing and turning and nightmare riddled sleep. Arthur told himself he'd made a valid effort at resting, and promptly took up the pad and made his way to the kitchen. He wanted to go to Eames, but prudence held him back. Eames could be asleep like the others, and he honestly had no reason to seek out Eames company. He wasn't going to break his own rules. He needed space, Eames needed space, they needed their own routines regardless of how easily theirs had synced up planetside. Still. He listened for any indication Eames was awake, for any indication of one of Eames nightmares.

Eames appeared shortly after Arthur settled in at the kitchen table, leaning on the rails. "Can't sleep?" he asked, crossing his arms and making sure his voice didn't carry too much. "The pills are in your things, you know."

"You're still awake," Arthur retorted mildly as he picked his head up from the screen. Eames really didn't have any right to call him on it, when he was doing the very same. Not sleeping. But Eames hadn't sounded accusatory, and Arthur let his reactionary hostility disappear as quickly as it had surfaced.

"And I saw them," Arthur said, then added, voice still low, "It's not that I don't trust Will..." But it was. He didn't know Will well enough to let himself remain unconscious for eight or more hours. It had been one thing with Eames, sharing a bed with him, knowing Eames would do his utmost to ensure Arthur's safety. "Besides, it's early morning in Yartis."

"Four in the morning to be precise. Do you want to sleep in my room?"

Arthur was first surprised by the offer, and then realized he shouldn't have been. "Are you going to sleep if I do?" he challenged. He didn't want to chase Eames out of his own bed, but he still firmly believed they should try to put a stop to sharing a bed. Boundaries. But even just curling up with Eames again sounded good. He'd grown so used to physical contact, to Eames' sneaking affection, to gentle brushes, that going without for almost a day felt strange and uncomfortable. He missed Eames. He missed the easy banter now that he felt like he had to weigh everything he said. But they had always been fragile even if now there were new edges to to watch for.

Arthur looked back down at the pad, diverting his attention to the screen. "You can turn out the light when you head back, I'll dim the screen." It hadn't bothered Eames back in the tent, it shouldn't bother him a room away.

"I would consider it, the bay is close to the engine room as well and I'd take your mattress. You can take half of the dose, so you can get at least some rest," Eames continued, even after Arthur's dismissal. "Otherwise, I'm leaving the light on, given that my books are old, and don't glow in the dark."

"I meant the kitchen light, so you can stop blaming me for your lack of sleep," Arthur said, mood growing sour that Eames was insistent he rest while Arthur's own concern for Eames' sleep was thoroughly ignored. And he still wasn't entirely sold on the idea of taking a sleeping pill, one that its chemist made a note of sleepwalking, and being alone in the control room. And if the door was left unlocked, it was no different than sleeping in the cargo hold, however if the door was locked it made it that much harder for Eames to get back to the console in an emergency. Seconds could cost lives. "Might as well adjust to Yartis' time," was all he said, no longer concerned with Eames' sleep out of stubbornness. He feigned interest in what he was reading: census reports for Yartis and Hudspeth, Ariadne's hometown. After Eames admitted to his lack of funds Arthur had spoken to Ariadne, who had happily agreed to either take him in or put him up somewhere if need be. Her family wasn't wealthy, but they weren't poor either, and he had every intention of paying them once he had the credits.

"I'm not sleeping if you're not, I'm probably not sleeping if you are. Welcome aboard." Eames sighed and turned to leave.

"Asshole," Arthur spat under his breath, but he knew he'd end up taking the drug later. Hopefully approaching a decent hour for sleep on Hera. His irritation faded as he heard Eames moving and he turned to watch. Eames was obviously looking for something the way he lingered against the rail, still scanning ceiling of the ship. Arthur pushed himself up from the table and followed Eames into the cockpit. "What's wrong?" He asked, stationed in the doorway.

"Hopefully nothing," Eames sighed, half turning from the console. "Possibly a whole lot of things and probably an air leak. It's too early to tell and no reason to get everyone up about. In all, might just be paranoia. Go back to... reading, or whatever it is you're doing." He took a seat back on his bed, picking up the book propped open on the mattress.

Arthur stepped further inside instead, moving for the console. He had no doubt in his mind that Eames had probably checked and rechecked the life support system and readouts, but he wanted to have a look himself. The more firsthand knowledge he had, the better, and he looked to Eames for permission to sit and run a diagnostic himself. "Mind if I?"

"Go ahead. And before you ask I _have_ factored in the fact that there are five people on board instead of two or one." Eames waved his hand dismissively before trying to go back to reading. Yet soon enough he was coming to hover over Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur took a seat, fingers gliding over the controls as he pulled information from life support. He hummed thoughtfully. "It's pumping out more oxygen than it should, but we haven't depressurized so it can't be a large hole," musing aloud, Eames was no doubt well aware and had reached the conclusion himself, "There's enough air that I can shut it down and restart it, see if it's life support that needs to be re-calibrated, or have you already tried that?"

"Yeah, our blood hasn't boiled and we're not mush yet, I gathered that bit." Eames sighed, leaning his chin on the back of the chair. "You might as well do it again, it'll make me feel better. The tank's full up so even if we're leaking if it doesn't get worse we have enough air for three round trips. But I shudder to think what will happen if it does get worse."

"We'd suffocate turning to mush," Arthur corrected as he shut down the filter and let the air grow stagnant and unnaturally quiet. "I'd still like to find it, and ensure it doesn't get worse. If it isn't life support," and considering Eames had already done this once before it was more than likely, "Give me some time to override the gravity and tomorrow we can start scattering paper to find the leak." With everyone else up and able to help, tracking down the small rupture shouldn't be difficult. He set life support back to default and fired it up again, listening to the muted whirrs and hums as fanbelts started running again.

"I wouldn't turn the gravity off, if I were you. More than likely the only reason we haven't been stripped of the hull by the vacuum is actually because of the gravity keeping the air pinned to the craft. There are plenty of other ways to find the origin of the breach. It's going to be along the welded edges, anyway, so it shouldn't be that difficult of a search."

"Your suits are usable, aren't they? And you just said you have enough oxygen for three round trips. We shut down life support, seal the rooms, find the leak, plug it and turn life support back on." Arthur said, but his plan did hinge on those suits being functional. "And we don't need to turn gravity off, just adjust it enough that the oxygen leaving can carry the paper." And this felt good, this exchange of ideas. "Better than rigging someone up in a harness and hope they find a mircoscopic hole. At that point, we might as well wait until we reach Yartis." Which was doable, but ran the risk of letting the breach widen when they weren't prepared. Arthur glanced at the screen. It wasn't life support, filters were working overtime to compensate for the oxygen leaving the ship faster than carbon dioxide could be recycled.

"We risk widening the leak by turning off the gravity even slightly. If it's influencing the air supply, it can probably be felt, if not identified, without turning gravity off." Eames paused, thinking, tucking his chin further into the chair as he looked thoughtfully out the window. "Paper is too heavy but if we use some down from the pillows we might not need to turn it off after all. Just let them loose from the top of the stairs. If nothing happens, it's probably in the engine room."

Arthur looked up abruptly, a hint of a smile as he caught Eames' face. Eames was good, there wasn't any denying that. "Yeah, if we turn off the life support, definitely." That would ensure the only air movement came from the breach. He brought his gaze back to the controls. "We should do it now, sooner is better than later."

"That's going to be an interesting sight for anyone to wake up to. They'll think we've lost our minds," Eames chuckled, straightening with a stretch and turning towards his bed to fetch the pillow. "If you'd like to do the honors..." he said as he plucked a handful of feathers.

Arthur shut it down for the second time, letting the ship fall silent save for the rumbling engine. He hoped the tear wasn't somewhere difficult to make repairs. "Make it quick," Arthur advised needlessly. Eames knew they were working with a limited supply of air. Ordinarily they might have few hours of oxygen, but with a hull breach the amount of time was hard to calculate.

"Mm," Eames acknowledged, heading out. There was just the noise of him moving around, then silence for several seconds until: "Found it."

"All right," Arthur said, turning life support back on and trusting the suction would keep enough feathers in place to find it with whatever Eames had in the way of sealant. He left the console to join Eames the railing, and sure enough there was a small cluster of feathers across the way. "Alright, where do you keep the equipment so one of us can get over there?" Arthur asked, assuming Eames had rigging. He fully intended to be the one to climb up but he'd rather have that discussion once they had the materials ready.

"I just have a ladder I can throw over both railings. It's stable enough to carry me and I don't really anticipate staying up there for too long. It's in the other room."

"Good, then it should be able to support me," Arthur said as he left to bring it out. He wasn't entirely thrilled that all Eames had was a ladder. A few sturdy ropes and a good harness were something Arthur considered mandatory equipment for issues like this. The idea that there were parts of the ship he couldn't reach was unsettling, but it was Eames' ship, not his, and to be fair this situation wasn't a common one. He found the ladder quickly and brought it out along with straps he'd found and put away back when they'd been scouring storage for parts. He thought it would be more secure than just laying it across.

"Support you, yeah, not likely, I have more sleep on you, Mr. Arthur, and it's not that terrible of a job." Eames crossed to where Arthur was standing to take a pair of ties, heading over to the other side to secure it. "You helped find the breach, I get to fix it, fair is fair."

"It's my fault for not doing a more thorough check, you're the one that found the breach," and there was a long list of reasons why Arthur should be the one to do it, but Arthur didn't have a chance to expound on them as Eames started moving to the other side. Unless Arthur wanted to wake everyone else, he was better off swallowing the thought, but he scowled to show his displeasure. He set about fastening the ladder from his side, because he wouldn't be the reason Eames fell. He made his way over, keeping his voice low, "what are you going to seal it with?"

"Frankly, darling, the only real thing we have on board is duct tape in droves. The mesh reinforce won't help in this case and we're all out anyway. It's a rather small hole so a piece of taped sheet metal will have to do the trick." A sigh and Eames ducked into the storage room to reemerge with the materials he'd mentioned. "The vacuum should keep it in place, technically, but once we land I wouldn't like it falling on anyone's head." He sat down on the railing, attaching longer lengths of the rope to his belt loops.

Arthur stepped in, moving almost automatically to help secure Eames, pushing Eames' hands away gently and tying the rope in the most durable knot he knew. And this didn't count as crossing boundaries, this was work, even if he was standing closer than necessary, and helping Eames with something the man could do on his own. He tugged on it to check it. "Feel good to you?"

"Yes, mother," Eames said and chuckled again before standing and clambering up onto the ladder, stepping easily from rung to rung until he reached the feathers, support trailing behind him on the second set of stiles. Arthur watched. A proper harness would have been better. He waited as Eames taped the scrap in place and made his way back.

"Now help me untie these, you monster."

"You wouldn't be calling me that if you'd slipped," Arthur said even as he stepped into Eames space and nimbly undid the knot, fingers working and tugging gently at the front of Eames' pants.

"The odds of that were extremely slim," Eames grumbled. "I've fallen bigger distances with less support."

"That doesn't bolster my confidence," Arthur deadpanned as he pulled the rope free from Eames' belt loops. "I'd rather you not take that kind of risk," he said before he could catch himself. But then, they were friends, he was allowed to be concerned for Eames. He stayed close, catching the whispers of warmth between them, so used to Eames' nearness that it had long stopped registering as uncomfortable unless it was made known.

"I'm not just a mechanic, remember. That's not even my day job, darling." Eames tilted his head, mindlessly pulling at the knots that kept the ladder in place. "Funnily enough, you can't even arrest me for it now, if I tell you anything. Although I suppose you could report it to the authorities, but you wouldn't do that would you?" He looked up this time, smiling, although somewhat sadly.

"Funny isn't the adjective I would use," Arthur said coldly, because it would be a very long time before he was willing to joke about his life falling apart. It took him a moment to see what Eames was really asking, and even if he was less than pleased with Eames indirectness and flippacy, he answered, "After everything, Persephone, Black Rock... No, Eames, I wouldn't, but thank you for the reminder I can't arrest you. I'd completely forgotten," he said dryly and stepped back. There was the other side of the ladder to unfasten and then the ladder and rope needed to be returned to storage.

Eames followed Arthur to the other side, helping with the knots there as well. "Persephone," he continued thoughtfully, moving forward and past that topic. "I'll see about getting your stuff back by the way, what you'd left in the hotel room. It's been a month, but who knows. They don't exactly get a lot of customers and shipping to Hera is pretty viable. Did you have any preferences for where you'd like to stay? I hear Ariadne, Will and Jasmine have filled you in on most of the city's layout and history. I'd recommend asking Ariadne but until the search is called off, until Yusuf lands on Hera, it's best to keep to anonymous hotel rooms."

"My stuff is in an evidence locker back on Ariel, did you think it'd just sit in the hotel?" Arthur said, but he was no longer bristling. Eames was making an effort to be helpful. "I just want a bed and a private shower, cheap is fine." Almost necessary - two weeks would still be dipping into pockets by the sound of things. "I'd rather not rely on Ariadne's parents but if nothing can be found, it'll be fine. I'm just afraid they'll ask why I don't turn to the local government for help... and if it's better financially, sharing a room until Rook is repaired and you're on your way is fine. More room than the tent."

"I'm willing to bet you top dollar that the day we land is the same day Rook goes in for repairs and I'm off to Dell. It's a half hour's drive from the docks themselves so I might be in and out but you'll get a room all to yourself, won't that be novel. I'd extend an invitation but it's not mine to do so, not to mention there's no way anyone would want to live at our place. Not that there's anything wrong with it but tensions will likely be high."

Arthur carefully levered the ladder up as he pulled it back across, trying to avoid batting it against anything as he brought it over to their side. He gestured for Eames to grab the rest of the straps and walk with him to storage to put it all up. "If it's that bad, don't go." Arthur said, but he wasn't wholly convinced Eames should avoid the family had left, especially if there was something to know about him.

"You know that thought never even crossed my mind with all the other choices I have. And the whole bit where I owe the man my existence and all. I'll deal with it," Eames concluded, taking up the straps and pushing the top of the ladder down to telescope it into its smaller version. "Just like I deal with everything else. With patience, a bit of humor and making myself scarce as soon as possible."

"That didn't stop you from avoiding him for the last five years, I don't see why it does now, he's always been your father," Arthur said as he held the ladder in place, the collapse into itself was loud, but had been at his ears. He tucked it under his arm to carry it more comfortably and started for the storage room. "But if you can handle it, handle it." Arthur recognized he had no idea what kind of parent Eames senior was, only snatches of stories, and Eames' hadn't solicited his advice. Arthur slipped inside the reorganized room and put the ladder back where he'd found it, secured in one of the larger units.

"I also haven't been grounded for at least several weeks, on the same planet, in the same city, with no finances to speak of," Eames snapped. "Like I said. Little choice do I have."

Arthur would have pointed out that if could break in and out of hospital on Ariel, avoiding one man shouldn't have been a problem. But Eames seemed to want to complain about it more than do anything about it, and Arthur decided to call it dramatics and leave it alone. And if Eames finances were that bad, perhaps Arthur was better off staying with Ariadne.

"I'll talk to Ariadne in the morning, see if she can find somewhere for me to stay." He said, closing the brewing argument as far as he was concerned. It was why the discussion had started, Eames asking after his accommodations. She'd probably need to speak to her parents again come morning, but if Eames didn't have the resources Arthur had to find help elsewhere. Hopefully they'd be too happy to have their daughter back to ask him any questions. He shut the unit once he was satisfied with the arrangement of straps and started heading back for the kitchen.

"I can put you up, at least for the first couple of days until Yusuf comes, quit worrying me by mentioning Ariadne." Arthur nodded at that, he knew that even under an assumed name staying with Ariadne was dangerous for her and her parents. Then he was back on the pad, now doing research into hotel rates and Eames retreated to the cockpit. Dell, probably because it was closer to the docks, was cheaper by far and had more options. Exhaustion started to hit him, stinging his eyes and dragging him under in starts and stops. He sighed and moved downstairs, tucking himself into bed and trying for a few hours of sleep.

Arthur gave up on the rotten idea once he heard Ariadne and Jasmine moving around in the kitchen, laughing and chatting happily. He hesitated, but once Will was awake he joined them at the table, nodding to Eames tiredly before he sat down to concerned stares.

"Did you sleep at all?" Ariadne asked, and Will looked abruptly guilty as he added, "Did I snore?"

"I'm fine, you didn't," he answered, and considered throwing concern in Eames direction, but kept Eames' sleeplessness to himself. If the others couldn't tell, bully for Eames.

"I couldn't sleep either. So we fixed a leak in the hull," Eames stated, sliding a bowl of rice onto the table. "With all the noise we made I'm surprised you all slept right through it." Attention was off him, and Arthur paid Eames a brief look of gratitude as he passed him on his way to collect bowls and chopsticks. Ariadne grew worried until both Will and Jasmine hurried to placate her concerns. They exaggerated how common it was, and mitigated the dangers inherent, but Arthur saw no need to correct. Ariadne wanted to design buildings, not ships, and she never mentioned wishing to live aboard one.

Arthur passed out bowls and sat as the others dug in, passing their thanks and compliments to Eames. He found he lacked the energy and motivation to eat, but he made an effort as conversation flowed freely.

It was when he tried to help with the dishes that Ariadne put her foot down and told him to sleep. He had no excuses, she knew about Yusuf's sleep aid. And Arthur wasn't sure if looking to Eames would grant him support or if he'd only rally her side.

"Both of you should sleep," Ariadne said, when his eyes flicked to Eames.

"We'll handle Rook," Jasmine offered as Will nodded.

"And then what, mess up our schedules even more?" Eames shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "You can handle Rook if you'd like, but unless we run in to something between here and Georgia there's not going to be a whole lot to do. I can guarantee you we'll nap if we need to but sleeping through the whole day is not a good idea. Not to mention: I need to make more calls, one of which includes double checking the bureaucratic progress of the Alliance turtles - not exactly time for sleeping."

"Look at him Eames," Ariadne said throwing her hand in his direction, which Arthur frowned at, because he was still very much in the room. And it wasn't a terribly fair assessment, dark circles were just more obvious against lighter skin tones. He wasn't that tired, but he was tired enough to end the argument.

"Fine, I'll be downstairs," he said, leaving it vague to avoid outright lying. The pad was still beside the bed, and there was still plenty for him to do. Slowly he rose from the table - half eaten rice pushed towards the middle for anyone to grab, or stow in the fridge - and started for his makeshift room.

It was once the sounds clacking dishes faded that he heard Ariande come down the stairway, "I knew you wouldn't even try," she said as she walked. Arthur exhaled unhappily through his nose and continued reading where he sat on the mattress. In another moment, she dropped down next to him and started to ask questions about what he was looking into. Eventually Arthur explained that as much as he appreciated Ariadne's offer, it was probably better if he went with Eames to Dell. More affordable, and fewer questions, not to mention Eames' aptitude for evading the Alliance. She seemed to understand, and went on to crack a joke about how overprotective her parents were and that as kind as they were, they still wouldn't be thrilled to have an older man living with them, even if Arthur and she were entirely platonic.

Conversation ebbed and flowed, and Arthur started to drift, but he didn't miss that Ariadne was still having some off nights. The Reavers hadn't been any less gruesome for her, and Arthur had scared her when he emptied rounds into a half-rotted corpse. It wasn't every night, but she admitted last night hadn't been good, and Arthur set the pad aside to wrap an arm around her. She accepted the comfort instantly, and wrapped her arms around his healing bruises. He tried his best to soothe her, and ended up putting them both to sleep, with her half on top of him.

They slept solidly for a few hours and pulled apart somewhat awkwardly and disoriented.

"Er, sorry," Ariadne said first, moving back quickly as Arthur shifted away. Arthur held a hand up, and told her not to worry about it as he tried to rid himself of the stiffness in his muscles. The position they'd accidentally taken up had not been a comfortable one, but at least Ariadne was light.

It was by unspoken mutual agreement they kept their distance after that. Ariadne hurrying to the kitchen first, and upon finding Eames there, she offered to help cook, while Arthur tried to go back to the pad as though nothing happened. Which was the truth. They'd been exhausted and they'd fallen asleep for... a little more than three and a half hours.

Soon enough Arthur had decided enough time had passed, only catching snatches of conversation. Eames had apparently seen, but the situation was awkward more than anything and he didn't need to explain it to Eames. There was nothing to explain. He ventured upstairs, passing the kitchen quickly to knock on Ariadne and Jasmine's joint room and request the use of the shower. Once that was granted and he ducked back downstairs for a change of clothes, passing the kitchen a second and then third time, heading for the bathroom even as Eames called lunch.

Arthur showered anyway: he'd hoped to avoid lunch. He wasn't exactly hungry. But he didn't waste water with a longer cleansing and instead took his time drying, toweling himself off thoroughly. By the time he left, conversation had quieted and dishes splashed in the sink. So far Eames had left him alone, and the others should have been occupied with bowls. Maybe he could slip by unnoticed.

"Arthur. I believe there was a deal at some point?"

Eames sat at the table set with one bowl opposite him, a chair drawn out.

Arthur gave Eames a sour look when he couldn't come up with a legitimate argument but ceded after a moment, finding the covered bowl and seating himself while refusing eye contact. A few mouthfuls until Eames and the others left should have been enough to satisfy everyone and he started in on the stir fry. Jasmine and Will had the decency to leave once their share of the kitchen was clean, Ariadne seemed to hover and Eames remained seated.

Arthur tried to conceal his annoyance. It wasn't difficult to surmise that Eames intended to stay until he was finished; something he would have liked to resent if he hadn't made it necessary. He started to settle, reasoning with himself that he did need to eat and Eames wasn't wrong, Arthur had been the one to strike the deal. There wasn't much in the bowl and it actually tasted good, enough that his appetite made a return and he ate the rest quickly, only slowing consciously towards the end.

"See, not so hard." Eames sighed, still saying in his seat. "Hope that was alright." Ariadne had already seen it was all fine and gone back to her room, the shower now on everyone's mind.

"It was fine," Arthur was willing to admit. The fact that Eames had to force him was something he'd rather not acknowledge. He rose from the table to wash out his own bowl, slightly embarrassed and contrite as he ran the tap. But Eames hadn't seemed angry, which was reassuring and at least the others had left. Though it wasn't deferring to Eames that had him embarrassed, it was that Eames had needed to do it.

"Did you make your calls?" he asked, trying to gauge more of where Eames' mood was.

"Yeah. Went fine. Got you a room. Probably won't be like anything you're used to."

"Where?" Arthur asked as he put up his bowl and made his way back to the table, where Eames still wasn't making eye contact. He wasn't sure what to make of that, but sat back down anyway. He had seen a fair number of hotels, mostly within Ariel City when he felt the urge to find a bedmate, but that didn't mean he'd turn up his nose. "And I spent the last month in a tent. You think I can't handle a cheap room?" He raised a brow. He couldn't recall complaining about the small space, but the implication didn't offend and Arthur was in no mood to quarrel.

"Outskirts of Dell. And it's not so much a lack of room as much as your opinion on eclectic decorating and multiple cats. Not that they're allowed in the rooms. And more than likely someone but me hounding you to eat and calling you a darling city boy. It's close to the roadway though and a short drive from the docks." A sigh and Eames concentrated on a spot slightly above Arthur's shoulder. "I know the old bird and I've done a couple milk runs for her so she'll be happy to put you up. More than happy."

Arthur followed the gaze, gradually realizing it wasn't quite on him; between that and the sigh, Arthur sensed he wasn't wanted and the fragile good mood started to erode. He wasn't sure what he'd done, and he wouldn't blindly apologize, instead growing defensive and rising up from the table. "Sounds fine," he said dismissively as he started for the stairs.

Arthur kept himself occupied with reading until Will came downstairs and asked for a spotter though it seemed boredom had driven Will to the weights rather than familiarity and desire. Arthur didn't mind correcting his form and starting him off easy, and Will didn't mind spotting for Arthur. At least it didn't include talking, but it did thoroughly ruin the shower and Arthur was forced to come to terms that water onboard wasn't quite as unlimited and he'd need to be smarter about water conservation.

Will had been smart enough to bring the towels out and offered one to Arthur, who took advantage and wiped away as much sweat as he could, glad he'd opted for a t-shirt. He'd tried to leave the button-ups for Eames, at least until his shoulder healed enough that a t-shirt wasn't such a struggle.

Arthur swapped out his shirt, as did Will, and they headed upstairs as the sounds of cooking could be heard.

Eames had avoided noodles and rice, instead opting for beans and canned vegetables and meat. There was a surprising diversity in the cans he'd grabbed, most enough for only the five of them and certainly not a whole village. Dinner was a quiet affair for which Arthur was thankful.

After, Arthur helped with cleanup, staying out of Eames way as much as he could while the others handled clearing the table. He'd eaten to avoid another confrontation and worsening Eames' mood, but the food sat heavy after growing used to so little. The others lingered for tea, but Arthur didn't. Maybe Eames would be more talkative without him there. He tried not to let the thought crush him; he couldn't expect Eames to be happy around him.

He thought he heard Ariadne quietly asking if Eames was alright, but he didn't stay long enough to be sure.

Eventually Will had insisted on a game of poker, and alienating himself only seemed to draw more attention in such a small group, so Arthur joined the other two at the table for a few hands. It was a basic poker game that seemed to borrow rules from one version and leave off others, but it was engaging and nothing of value was at risk so Arthur held off on adhering to some form of standardized rules.

Will had gone to invite Eames and Ariadne, but returned with a shake of his head and dealt another hand. Arthur had nothing, but bluffed well enough to stay in the game, and lost to Jasmine, who raked in her scrap bolts like they were worth something. 'She started another round smugly.

Eventually Eames did appear, walking out of the cockpit and turning around to wait on Ariadne before both of them headed to the table to be dealt in. If it wouldn't have been entirely obvious Arthur would have gotten up to leave. Instead he folded quickly a few rounds, and then tried to claim tiredness as an excuse to leave. If Eames wanted to avoid him, Arthur would make it easy. He rose from the table, surrendering what was left of his pieces to Will because he was closest, and headed downstairs.

Except even as Arthur prepared himself for another evening of research, he heard footsteps behind him and turned to face Eames on the stairs, guarded. "Do you need something?" he asked, poker face still firmly in place. Knowing Ariadne she'd probably insisted they talk about whatever Eames' issue was, and Arthur supposed he'd hear him out, but he wasn't interested in rehashing their dissolved relationship.

"I came to apologize. For the past couple of hours." Eames sat, leveling their eyes at least somewhat. A pause and he looked up, only too aware that they were still in earshot of the table, from which there was almost complete silence. "Quit eavesdropping, you twits. " His response was laughter and a resumption of conversation. He looked back at Arthur. "There was a bee in my bonnet and I let it show a little too much is all."

That didn't explain much, and it was probably more Ariadne than any desire on Eames' part to confront the problem. "Noted," he said and started to walk away. He didn't have anything to contribute to the apology, and an apology didn't mean Eames had anything else to say. Ariadne would be satisfied, and Eames could go back to avoiding him.

"No, I'm serious, listen. I won't avoid you anymore. I'm sorry I ever did. And I'm not doing this because Ariadne told me to, alright? I want us to be friends that can rely on each other and be around each other, if that's not too much to ask. I promise to stop being difficult. I'm sorry I was."

"Great," Arthur replied, trying for something other sarcasm as he moved to his mattress. He dropped down, sparing a glance up at Eames from his newly seated position. "You were the one that insisted we stay friends, frankly, I don't care. Whatever you want," he said, which was a defense. If he refused to want, he wouldn't be disappointed, wouldn't feel the sting of Eames backing off because Arthur couldn't give him what he wanted. He scooped up the pad, another evasive maneuver, and tried to focus on the screen as he channelled stoicism and forced his features neutral.

"You don't care? You said the opposite just before. And we work together well, don't we, problem solving, at the very least. Why should it be cold between us? Won't forgive me my mistake of a mood swing? Else, what do you want me to say or do to make it better? Because now _you're_ avoiding _me_."

Arthur heaved a sigh through partially gritted teeth. "I don't. If you want to be friends, fine, if you can't, fine. I do not care," he said flatly. "I'm not avoiding you, I forgive you, and whatever else you want to hear." He honestly had nothing to contribute. What did Eames expect? A fucking hug?

"I'm glad to hear that. Now what's wrong? You're tense. Did something else happen?"

Arthur glanced up, and then back to the pad, going still. He didn't think he'd been tense, the only notable incident had been Eames' avoidance on the heels of a nightmare. He frowned and shifted away unconsciously. He hadn't been that upset about Eames' behavior. "I wasn't tense until now," he tried to assert.

He didn't want to admit that it stung, and when he'd made sure to eat dinner for Eames' sake and still received a cold shoulder... But, Eames was just one of many problems, one that Arthur couldn't calculate or plan for, which only added to the stress of relying on him.

...And he was withdrawing, trying to curtail the discussion while Eames was still likely to leave. The defensive habit was hard to break.

"Well, why are you tense now? Here," Eames took a seat on the floor, draping his elbows over his knees and folding his hands in between his shins. "Now I'm smaller so you can pretend I'm Ariadne and tell me what's bothering you."

"I don't talk to Ariadne," Arthur said, or he hadn't for the past few weeks and what he had said had been mostly conversational. He didn't talk about feelings or problems, not serious ones. He'd started to open up to Eames, but it wasn't with any regularity, and he implied more than he verbalized. But the jocular tone had softened him, it felt like having Eames back and Arthur couldn't help but react, to settle some.

"Well you certainly don't cuddle with just anyone, so I imagine you must have some regard for her. Go on, then."

"What? Why I was tense?" Arthur asked, largely rhetorical, "I wasn't sure what to expect, and then you started questioning me and I was afraid we were going to end up having the same fight we had before we left. Satisfied? Should I explain every nuance of emotion I go through?" The last was coated in sarcasm, but since Eames was obviously not going to leave it alone Arthur thought being blunt was the wisest course of action. He kept the hostility to minimum, and refrained from mentioning Eames' seeming inability to actually let something go in an effort to prevent another argument. He let the comment about cuddling with Ariadne go, Eames had him on that count. But just because he was friends with her, didn't mean he discussed his personal problems.

"We didn't have a fight. Well, we did, but then we cleared up the issue and were left on civil terms. There's no reason it would be brought up again. Yesterday we got along fine, didn't we? I want to know what's changed, since you insist it wasn't me, and if I can help at all in the matter."

Arthur's eyebrows rose skeptically as he stared at Eames, "Excuse me? By your own admission _you_ were avoiding _me_. I'm not an idiot, I noticed. And then you disappear with Ariadne for an extended amount of time, and I know her. So, yeah, I was a little wary when you started apologizing. Nothing changed on my end, you avoided me and I returned the favor. That's it. I don't know what you're looking for here." Eames probably didn't mean it, but he was coming across very condescending and it was quickly grating on Arthur's nerves. A three hour nap wasn't enough to compensate for a highly stressful two, almost three, days of missed sleep, and he'd never been a fan of divulging his emotions.

Eames knew he had issues with being abandoned, and still he'd backed off, closed himself off. He hadn't even bothered to wish so much as a good night the previous evening, and he expected Arthur to just open back up because of a flimsy apology? The only reason Arthur was even letting Eames anywhere near him was due to his own problems with leaving Eames. He felt should extend the courtesy Eames had shown him, but it was by no means easy. He tried to keep his face impassive.

"I said it wasn't because she said anything-" Eames sighed, looking down this time. "She'd wanted to know why I was avoiding you and being an all around dick. I had to confess that... Well, the sight of the two of you together, whether there was something or not, that makes no difference, reminded me that you will, eventually, move on to someone else. Not now, not in a week or two, but eventually and I was upset, I admit that. But as we talked I realized that if it is what you want, far be it for me to stand in your way. In fact, it would be supremely selfish for me to do so. I accepted that and got a handle on myself, now am trying to make peace with you again. That's all."

And this was exactly what Arthur didn't want to talk about. Fallout from their week long relationship, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't hurting too, but that didn't mean he wanted to talk about it and he was quick to close the subject, "Great, glad you've come to terms." And a part of him wondered how Eames would have taken it had they been together still. If he would be this possessive, that even accidentally falling asleep with someone else would provoke him. Arthur chased the thought away. They weren't together. End of discussion. The whole thing left him cagey. He'd never stuck around to see what leaving did to other people, and he felt highly uncomfortable as the source of Eames' emotional suffering. "Welcome to being an adult," he added, trying to absolve himself. He couldn't deny he was annoyed that entirely imagined people had earned him a cold shoulder, that the simple act of not being with Eames had lead to being avoided, and he understood that Eames was dealing with it... but the very fact that Eames had to deal with it because he'd been forced to by Ariadne... It was strange to feel angry and guilty and hurt simultaneously. Arthur couldn't say he was enjoying the war being waged for preeminence.

"Okay." A quiet sigh and Eames stood, brushing himself off lightly. "I'll take that hint now and be upstairs until further notice. Happy to know you aren't as affected and you don't need anything aired out. If there's another air leak or you need the heating turned up, just shout."

Arthur frowned, but watched Eames leave without a word. And guilt won, but he remained where he was, pouring his attention back into research that didn't need doing. Eventually Will wandered down, dropping off to sleep after confirming Ariadne had won by a stroke of pure luck. It wasn't too far off a normal night on Hera, but Arthur still couldn't fall asleep on his own, and he ventured back up to the kitchen where he wouldn't be a disturbance.

"Arthur, you have pills," Eames voice carried across the way as the light in the cockpit went out. Arthur didn't react at first, but then decided to take advantage of the fact he had medication. He could just sleep and not deal with any of this. Not deal with any of the guilt or Eames or Ariadne. He dragged himself downstairs and dry swallowed a pill, letting it carry him under for the next ten hours, and since Will was gone and no one was there to stop him when he woke, he took another, losing another ten.

Eventually Arthur stirred, thoughts muggy and slow to form as he shifted gracelessly, twisting the sheets and swallowing in an attempt to regain moisture. He forced himself upright, only to slump back down and blink at the sight of two glasses of water. Arthur grabbed for one and drank greedily before setting it down and reaching for the pills again. Struggling with the lid for several minutes before sliding one out into his palm and taking it. The food didn't interest him; sleep did.

The next time Arthur roused, disoriented and dry-mouthed again, he blinked as he stared at what looked to be Eames, who seemed too far away. Arthur lifted a hand to test that theory, fingertips brushing at Eames' lightly-stubbled cheek. He was curled up still fully clothed on Will's mattress which he'd dragged near. Too far, he determined, and then remembered _why_ and reluctantly drew his hand back. They were on Rook, in separated beds, and Arthur tried to shift away, unable to school his features.

Eames awoke almost immediately, blinking his eyes open and again to clear them before hastening to sit up and move to Arthur's mattress. "How are you feeling, 青蛙操的流氓? There's water, come on sit up."

Did Eames just call him a 青 蛙操的流氓? Arthur struggled to sit up anyway, his muscles stiff and uncoordinated, and some small, selfish part of him was glad to have Eames so close, even if he sounded terse and left no room for argument. Eames' hand was on his forehead and Arthur all but relished it. He tried to answer the question but all he could make was a hoarse, almost croaking noise, and he reached clumsily for the water before very carefully bringing it to his mouth and drinking deeply. The water wasn't cold, but it soothed anyway, coating his mouth and throat with each swallow and he absently wished for more as he set the empty glass down. "Headache," he admitted, because Eames already seemed unhappy with him and lying would get him nowhere, he'd learned that much. He tried to seat himself further away on the mattress to grant Eames more space, but he was caught under the sheets and groggy enough that Eames' weight on top of them kept him pinned there.

"Yeah, I would imagine. Do you want more water?" Eames' hand had moved to his ribs, as support even if there was a light tremor in it, the other restlessly checking his temperature again. "Stay here, I'll go get more and I have the pills so don't even fucking look for them."

He did, and he was glad Eames didn't wait for him to say so, even if he missed the support at his ribs and Eames' hand on his forehead. He remained in place, waiting and trying to wake more fully, chase the haze away. Eames would probably want an explanation, but Arthur wasn't sure he had one. He kept his expression bland as he watched Eames come down the stairs with a kettle. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to face Eames until they'd docked and Arthur could more easily avoid him. He should have hidden the pills.

Eames took a seat on Arthur's mattress once more, pouring water into the cup and handing it to Arthur to drink, watching him do it. "Don't," he started, stopping abruptly as furrowed his eyebrows and tried to figure out how to continue. "I don't know what that was about but for godsakes, don't ever fucking do that again, Arthur, 懂了嗎? If you want everyone to stay away from you, you fucking tell them that to their face. Not this showy... business." He paused and rubbed his eyes."You scared the hell out of me, you bastard."

Arthur drank slowly as he listened, buying himself time to think and consider his responses. He knew what he wanted. It was more than to be left alone, because he didn't want to spend time with himself either. He set the glass down, more alert than he had been, and quietly offered, "Got it," without much conviction. He couldn't shake the thoughts, the idea of just... never waking up. Obviously he couldn't do that with Eames and the others around, but once he was out on his own... No, he'd already contacted Kinsley. It would be wrong to put all her efforts to waste, even if the thought was tempting. "I'm fine, though," he placated, hoping his lethargy would be blamed on the lingering effects of Yusuf's drug. "I was just tired, and I didn't think I'd be able to sleep without them," he lied, willing to blame grogginess for not lowering the dosage if pressed.

"It's been over a standard day, Arthur, over 24 hours, certainly, closer to thirty. You didn't even eat, you didn't even _try_ to sleep without the pills."

Arthur had been braced for accusations, for Eames' anger, he'd been prepared to hurl any number of slights and justifications to defend himself. He opened his mouth to start with one before Eames did but Eames shuffled closer on the mattress, sliding his left arm around Arthur's shoulder to pull him into a hug, tucking his forehead into the crook of Arthur's neck. Arthur froze. At first, tense, not that Eames had ever physically struck him, but slowly he relaxed, uncertain, but unwilling to force Eames to move. His weight and warmth had been long absent and Arthur missed them more terribly than he'd fully realized. He carefully rested his hands on Eames' sides, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I'm fine," he repeated softly into Eames' hair, trying to offer as much comfort as he was taking in their nearness.

"Yeah well," Eames huffed by way of explanation, not moving quite yet. "You're a terrible liar." He drew back, resting his hand on the side of Arthur's face and neck, thumb gently brushing along Arthur's cheek. "Leave it to the pros, would you? I'm still here for you, you raging bastard, whether you want me or not, I thought I made it clear." He huffed another sigh. Arthur closed his eyes, letting himself revel in the gentle touch and the assurances that came with it. He only opened them again when Eames pulled away and held out another glass, which Arthur accepted gratefully. "Please tell me you'd like something to eat."

He wasn't hungry, and more than that he didn't have the energy for it, but he pulled the covered plate onto his lap, finding utensils wrapped in a cloth to the side, and tried to eat anyway. "You were doing a pretty good job of not being there," he said without inflection. It wasn't bitter, or angry, only a quiet reminder of why Arthur hadn't reached out. An explanation, not an accusation. Their relationship was a fragile thing, and Arthur would rather run than risk shattering.

"So, what, you-" Eames cut himself off. "I try to jump through all your hoops, you know. Take it all in stride. You set one too high this time and then was upset when I fell short. I am fallible, darling, no matter what it says on the tin. It's hard to take back everything I feel for you on your whim, close the door in my own face so to speak, which is as close as I can come to explaining myself. I tried acting like it was all fine - that didn't work. I tried distance - that failed pretty spectacularly. How _do_ you want me to act, please tell me. What you want isn't what I want, therefore we need to reach some sort of compromise. And it's difficult to do that without input."

"I'm not the one that said we have to remain friends, if you couldn't handle it, you should have said so." Because that was crux, Eames wanted to be close to Arthur, and Arthur had forced himself not to care. "If acting like my friend is too high a hoop for you to jump through in order to be my friend, maybe we should end this completely." Arthur swallowed thickly, unable to keep his upset from showing, "When we started this, you said, you fucking promised me we could go back to being friends if it didn't work, this is _exactly_ why I didn't want to try," he hissed. He put the plate down and stood, just for something to do with himself. It was like losing Eames all over again, but this time he couldn't smooth over the hurt with the fact Eames would still be around. That it didn't matter if Eames got exactly what he wanted from Arthur, that Arthur was worth being around even if it wasn't for sex. He ran a hand through his hair, back turned to Eames as he tried to regain his composure.

"Frankly, I made that promise with everything ending badly in mind. Irreconcilable moral differences and all. Not just... ending." Eames remained seated. "I do, though, I do want to be friends. My question is what do you want me to be to you? How close are you to allow me? We spent a lot of time together even when we weren't sleeping together. We slept in the same bed even when we weren't friends, although it wasn't exactly a choice. I can leave you alone for the two weeks, only pick up if you call and not the opposite or I can come visit you every day once we land, show you around, lord knows I won't have anything to do with my time otherwise. For once just take a deep breath and outline what you want from me. Please. Because I have no idea."

"I don't want anything," he said, because admitting he wanted was opening himself up to disappointment. He let out a breath, choosing silence for a moment, hating himself for letting Eames get close enough to hurt, hating himself for causing the hurt. Arthur turned to kneel down and pick up the plate, carefully moving towards the stairs. He could hear soft voices in the console room, and determined everyone was either in there or the spare bedroom. And he knew as he walked away he was being difficult, he was always difficult. He'd warned Eames. Which was why he didn't expect anything, he knew if it were painful for him he'd stay away... except staying away hurt too, which is why he tried to let Eames do what he wanted. Arthur had called the shots and ended the relationship, Eames could have whatever level of friendship he wanted. Arthur didn't dare ask for anything after what he'd done.

"Oh for godsakes! I hope you fucking like cornfields and itty streets, then," Eames called at Arthur's retreating back.

Arthur made it upstairs and started to pack away the food, waiting for footsteps that never came. Eames had almost always followed him after spats like this, Arthur had come to expect him at his heels. It was... strange, unsettling, that Eames would just call after him and leave it at that. He waited another moment, listening quietly for metallic echoes, and quietly cursed under his breath as he moved to the railings to peer over the side.

Eames was sprawled over his mattress and... asleep? It sunk in that Eames was no doubt as tired and strung out as Arthur. He sighed softly and ventured back down as silently as he could; steps swift and light to avoid disturbing Eames. He crossed the cargo bay, back to the mattress, an excuse ready to spill from his mouth if Eames did wake, and knelt down beside him. The least he could do was help Eames rest, and perhaps there was a selfish desire to be close, to be needed, and not see Eames looking miserable. He settled in within arms reach, watching for signs of a nightmare should one come and if not... for the soft, peaceful expression that had been absent of late.

Arthur consoled himself with the fact that a friend would do this for another, there weren't lines being crossed, it was practical, and he carefully pressed himself in by degrees, shifting closer at any sign of a growing nightmare, until Eames calm, steady breathing and his own headache lured him back to sleep. A natural sleep, working the remnants of chemicals through his bloodstream.

He knew they needed to talk, but he found the words to say. He realized that while Eames had misstepped, so had he and he couldn't expect Eames to make this work on his own. It wasn't fair, and he couldn't leave things as they were.

Arthur twitched at the suddenness of weight draped across him, but no more than that as he blinked his eyes open, adjusting his vision. Eames, he'd half-assumed, and then confirmed. "Yeah. I'm the octopus," he said flatly, and gently moved the arm to sit up. 'He stretched, twisting at the waist a few times, and then turned his attention back to Eames. "Was it a nightmare?"

"Hab... it," Eames said haltingly, drawing his arm to his side before sitting up as well, looking at his knees. "But no, not a nightmare, I just didn't remember falling asleep. We're supposed to be landing soon. Ish. What time is it? And where are we? Oh and while you were asleep, before, we passed a cruiser heading out to Black Rock. They should be there within days."

Arthur reached for the pad and checked the time, reading aloud, "It's ten thirty-six on Hera." As for where they were and how close they were to landing, whoever had been in the console room earlier would be better to ask. Arthur assumed it was Will at the helm, but he'd been out for the better part of thirty hours. "That was quick, your guy is good," he added at the mention of a cruiser and then he paused, trying to come up with a decent segue. It was a long pause and finally he settled on being direct. "I can tell you what I don't want," he said, waiting to see if Eames would wave him off, tell him that he was done, or that he didn't want to talk about it. Arthur would understand.

A sigh and Eames rubbed his eyes. "Shoot."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak and faltered, licking his lips in a sudden bout of nervousness and hesitancy. But he'd decided to do this, and he would. "Eames, I... I don't want to miss you when we're in the same gorram room, I don't want to look over and see you can't even stand to be near me. I don't want you to be miserable. So when I say I don't want anything, I'm trying to say do what you need to - to be okay." He let an uneven breath. "I wasn't angry that you were avoiding me... I was trying not to be," and the word came out wrapped in disgust, "hurt. Because I know this was my decision, but it was never because I didn't care about you. I do."

"That's certainly a nice sentiment, it's a pity you weren't thinking of it thirty odd hours ago. But... Yeah, I'll try."

"Try what?" Arthur asked, heart tight in his chest, "Avoiding each other?" If that was what Eames needed... Arthur closed his eyes. Maybe he needed it too. God, he should have cut and run a long time ago. He shouldn't have let Eames anywhere near him, for both their sakes.

"Not being miserable? That's what you want, isn't it? Spend whatever time we have left together, though, because I want that. Unless, of course, that's a problem."

Arthur smiled, a small one, but he was relieved that Eames still wanted to be around him. The smile faded some, and he added, "If you're sure you'll be okay." He stood, offering a hand to Eames to help him up. If Eames was sure he could handle it, if it was what he wanted, Arthur owed it to him to let him try. To make it as easy as possible.

"Guys, breakfast!" Ariadne called down before ducking back into the kitchen.

"About time!" Eames called back rather than answer the question. Taking Arthur's hand he stood, then making his way up the stairs, rubbing his eyes still. Everyone was already accounted for. "We haven't blown to smithereens without me, that's encouraging."

"I told you things would be fine," Arthur as he followed, quickly stepping in to help set the table as Ariadne moved to speak quietly with Eames.

"We'll be landing in roughly an hour and a half if nothing's changed," Eames announced after a short exchange of words about Arthur's health with Ariadne that Arthur willfully ignored, "so if someone has lots to pack, you'd better get to it after breakfast."

No one had much, other than laundry and some toiletries. There was nothing to be done about the mattresses until they arrived, but after a somewhat uneasy breakfast and clean up of the kitchen and then themselves, everyone had their possessions tucked up in boxes and bags. Attention was off Arthur's behavior and anxious waves came in from eager families. Arthur ended up forfeiting his pad for the remainder of the trip, the device much easier to padd around than Eames' console and it wasn't difficult to convince Ariadne to wave her folks with that rather than barge into the control room that Eames would need sooner rather than later.

And Arthur was still trying to take his cues from Eames, not wanting to avoid him but not wanting to crowd him either. He still wasn't sure how much contact Eames expected to keep, and a game of solitaire would have him out of the way and occupied if Eames preferred to be left alone.

Eames joined him eventually and poked fun at him for the solitaire. Arthur rolled his eyes, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the game, though he'd switched to spider when he found one deck too simple to keep him entertained. "Do you have a better way to pass time?" he challenged, frowning as he started to realize the likelihood of winning this tableau wasn't good. Arthur began putting up the cards, sliding them neatly into piles and then stacking them. He didn't mind Eames in his space, at this point so accustomed to it, it barely registered. Eames' absence was much more notable these days, and it gave Arthur pause. What would it be like in a week? In two? Would he still miss the contact and the closeness? Would he be back to normal, hyper aware of Eames' every move? Arthur wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be and he concentrated on shuffling.

"We could play a few hands," he offered, nudging the chair opposite with his foot. Eames had a half an hour, a little less maybe, if Arthur's internal clock was still good and their ETA was accurate. Will was exercising, Ariadne and Jasmine were still on the pad trying to coordinate a lift to another town for Jasmine.

"It would be my pleasure." Eames sat in the chair, sweeping all the cards up from under Arthur's hands just to be an ass. "Shall I separate them or is two alright with you?"

Arthur surrendered the deck in his hands to Eames, letting him finish the shuffle. "Two is fine," he agreed easily, settling in to watch Eames' hands. Not the cards. Eames had talented hands, nimble, practiced, the movements smooth and quick. Fluid fingers. His eyes panned upwards, and swiftly glanced away, feigning interest elsewhere. "What's the game?"

"Poker again, like old times?"

Arthur smiled, bittersweet that grew more bitter the longer he thought about it. "I suppose I do owe you a few rounds," he said quietly. Opening his mouth to add something, and then swallowing the thought quickly. He wished Eames had gone to play that night, then Arthur wouldn't have felt so exposed and vulnerable, and Eames wouldn't have sensed his uncertainty, wouldn't have pressed and revealed his own insecurities and Arthur wouldn't have had a reason to end things. But that was a ridiculous line of thought: if hadn't been that night it would have been another and sooner was better than later, and Arthur kept the wish to himself. The night had been a good one, more than good, and maybe one day he would be able to remember it without the barb of how everything had spiralled out of control because he'd given Eames more trust than he was ready to.

"Not sure about owing, really." Eames offered Arthur the two decks to cut before shuffling and dealing.

Arthur glanced at his cards, keeping his face carefully neutral as he noted a bad hand. His eyes flicked up to try and gauge Eames' expression. "Do we have transport to Dell?" he asked, figuring that was a safe topic and trying to keep it professional to maintain a straight face.

"There's a bus. In the unlikely case I manage to avoid my father, I'll show you to it. It's not longer than a bike ride though," Eames said, passing out their mishmosh of betting chips and raising at the same time.

Arthur raised by a few pieces, face impassive. "Is it that bad, seeing your father again?" he asked, a little hesitant. After five years... didn't Eames miss his father? How bad had things become?

"Yes. There's only so much blame I can take on my shoulders. You'll see, more than like," Eames shook his head, raising again.

Short answer. Arthur backed off. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't offer anything. "If you need somewhere else to be, you're welcome to stay with me." He folded, and started to deal the next hand. "It's been a while though, maybe it's time to work things out," he ventured, peeking at his cards. Better than the last, but not great.

"Fat chance that. I gave him two years. And don't tempt me, please." Eames smiled, slightly strained, and looked at his cards.

Arthur doubted another night would be an issue, but if Eames needed a few hours away from his father, Arthur wouldn't deny him that. He hoped it wouldn't be necessary. Arthur raised, features less rigid, but still impassive. "You'd offer me the same," he said as he sat back, "and I mean it. If it gets bad," he let the thought trail off, and then set his cards down face down as he rose from the table. "Be right back," he promised and went in search of a pen. It wasn't a long search and he returned with it and a scrap of paper which he wrote down the contact information for the pad. The inn probably wasn't far, but if Eames just needed to get in touch the pad would be the better option. He passed the paper to him, and smiled in amusement. "Old times," he said. Very old times it felt like, but only a month in standard.

"Hah, that they are." Eames considered the paper for a moment, pulling it between his fingers before slipping it finally into the breast pocket of his shirt.

Their arrival loomed over Arthur; it felt like things were shifting again. Eames wouldn't be a floor away, he'd be a drive or a wave away. And if he wasn't forced to deal with Arthur... would he? He'd said that was what he wanted, but maybe it wouldn't be. Arthur continued to play the game anyway, trying to shut down his concerns and enjoy the cards. He didn't care if he lost more hands than he won for once, it was just time spent with Eames.

The half hour was done before it really got started and Eames stood, neatly placing the decks on the table. "Time for landing, I'm afraid. Seatbelts will probably be wise. Places everyone." He raised his voices for the last part and was answered by instant commotion.

Arthur put the cards up and ensured everyone else was seated and strapped in before he did his own belts, clicking them into place and tugging to test them. He buzzed the intercom to let Eames know everyone was secured, and then settled himself in for the decent.

There was an unwholesome amount of rattling as soon as they even breached the atmosphere along with popping and hissing. After this and the probably thousands of leaks that sprang up along the seams it would take far more than some welding to make the ship space worthy again.

Ariadne was not handling it well, Arthur could see and the second it was safe to do so he unbuckled himself and knelt at her side, weathering the last of the tremors as he locked eyes with her. "You're fine," he insisted, helping her undo the belts so she could get out. She launched herself out of the seat and Arthur followed her keeping a small distance between them even as she took a couple of stumbling steps and took a seat in the middle of the cargo bay. He turned to Will and Jasmine, ordering them to get Eames while he did his best to calm Ariadne down.

"Eames, problem," Jasmine said into the intercom, but Ariadne wasn't as far gone as Arthur had feared. He could see she was drawing in deeper and deeper breaths.

"It was the ship and it busting open and we could have all been sucked out, and the noise was exactly the same, and I'm sorry, God, I'm sorry," she babbled, and Arthur let her until she was speaking at a normal speed.

"Everything alright?" Eames voice echoed as he made it down the last couple of stairs. "Hey, we've landed, luv, it's all over. Solid ground now."

Arthur watched her nod, her expression tight and pinched from embarrassment, but no longer so haunted and frantic. It was a welcome relief. "I'm good," she said, followed by one solid exhale. "Can we get these doors open, or what?" She was trying very hard to sound cheery, but missed the mark by a few degrees. Arthur ignored it, letting her pretend it came out exactly as she'd intended.

"Yeah," he said, moving toward the controls to lower the gang plank. The machinery groaned to life as it worked to extend the ramp, loudly humming and filling the space. Sunlight poured in fast and Arthur squinted to adjust.

"There we are." Noise poured in louder now that the door was open. "You can grab your stuff later, your parents are waiting," Eames coaxed, helping Ariadne stand. Arthur watched Ariadne shoot Eames an anxious glance before hopping the last step, not even waiting for the gangplank to fully descend. Shrieks of joy filled the air and soon enough Will all but scooped up his wife and child in the middle of the gangplank, crying with them without shame.

Arthur kept his eyes averted and focused instead on finding something to help load up the boxes and bring them out. Jasmine was quick to offer her help and she found the float first elsewhere on the docks and brought it back to start stacking on boxes, glad that Will had at least managed to get his family out of the walkway. By that time Eames had walked back up the stairs.

Arthur had Jasmine had the boxes loaded by the time everyone else managed to compose themselves. Ariadne lead the way to an older transport and patted it affectionately as her parents opened up the trailer and helped with the lighter boxes. There was excited chatter and more family started to show, and no one seemed willing to be out of sight for more than a few seconds, but they did get things stowed up in the appropriate vehicles fairly quickly.

Arthur trotted upstairs and waited at the door, listening to ensure Eames wasn't in the middle of a call. No one minded waiting for the man that brought them home, there were goodbyes and thank yous to exchange. Arthur had already collected contact information, and was little surprised that Will and Jasmine had told him to call if he needed anything. Ariadne he had expected, and he supposed it wasn't that much of stretch that Will and Jasmine were just grateful and blindly promising whatever they could. He'd taken their information anyway.

Eames hung up, finally, running a hand through his hair. He turned, only now noticing Arthur at the door. "Are they packed already?" he smiled, somewhat ruefully.

"Yeah," Arthur said, slipping his hands into his pockets, "might want to grab some rain gear if you've got it." He added dryly. Not that he could fault them for their tears. "I didn't give them your number, but I can give you theirs if you want them," he said as moved out of the doorway to let Eames through. He'd follow him down once he made a final sweep for misplaced belongings.

"Ah, family members." Eames sighed and headed down.

Arthur finished his sweep, noting nothing had been left behind except a sock of indeterminate ownership. He helped with the prep work of moving everything to storage, avoiding ground patrol on the off chance they would recognize him, and perked up at a loud shout of Ollie. Several loud shouts.

He finished what he could, and scooped up his things; only the altered clothes inside the rucksack and a borrowed duffel, personal grooming equipment in a small plastic container - also borrowed. It was... strange, to see how little he had to call his own. A plain wallet and id card that wasn't his... He shoved the strange displaced feeling aside and headed towards the stairs, hanging back as he caught the tail end of a conversation.

There was a frail man standing in the middle of the gangplank, weathered and dependant on a cane. "Ollie, what in the 'Verse did you do to your gorramn ship - parking under your mother's name as well, do you have any shame?"

Arthur twitched under his skin as Eames only responded bitterly. So that was his father. Arthur followed him down the steps. "Is there a map posted out there? I can find the bus station on my own," he asked quietly. He wasn't sure if Eames would prefer company or privacy, but it was far from the happy reunions Arthur had witnessed before.

"No, we'll give you a lift. Won't we, dad, to the bus stop?" Eames nodded. "This is my friend, Arthur, dad," he said, tone all but steeped in condescension - like he was talking to a child - above something along the lines of _picked up another one did you_? "We suffered a crash a little ways past the Halo, on our way to Kalidasa and spent the last month fixing it on a black hole of a planet. So if you're pissed at me for not having come running when you - what did you do to yourself?"

"Fractured hip, you ingrate. And if you crash landed, how did you find a welding tool? You're lying to me, aren't you, boy? But whatever it was it was probably something I shouldn't know, eh? Anyway If he's your friend, why haven't you invited him to stay with us? Have you lost the last bits of courtesy your mother taught you?" Eames senior made an abortive movement, as if to walk up the rest of the gangplank before settling back on his cane.

"So he wouldn't have to deal with your nagging. Let's go, old man, where did you park?" Eames offered his father his arm, only to be rebuffed as Eames senior turned to hobble his way towards the parked transport a little ways away.

"I still say he should stay. I need more help than you can possibly give me with your disappearing acts. Not to mention how thin you look, Arthur. Has he been stealing all the food?"

Arthur could see why Eames opted not to return: even this was enough that Arthur felt irritation prickle under his skin, especially at the assumption he would help the man. He wasn't a nurse, nor a volunteer and he owed this man nothing. But Arthur kept his thoughts to himself, face on the sterner side of stoic, but otherwise impassive.

"He's lost at least as much weight," Arthur responded flatly, avoiding any insensitive mention of failing vision, "And he's not lying. The report should be made public within the week, you can read it yourself. And if I stay to help, I want to be perfectly clear that it's for his sake and not yours."

"Arthur," Eames pacified, brushing his hand shortly across Arthur's elbow.

"Well, then I look forward to reading it," Eames senior continued brusquely meanwhile. "But you'd best make up your mind quick - where did you even put him up, Florence's again? For godsakes, Ollie, don't take advantage of the poor woman just because she likes you. She says she owes her daughter to you, now what is that all about?"

Eames rolled his eyes loudly, opening the door of the transport for his father. "You should probably decide soon, Arthur, I can't see why you'd want to stay with us. Not when we talk this much. No, I'll drive, yes, I remember the way, _Dad, sit_." Eames senior mumbled something about five years but quietened a little, slumping in the front seat.

Arthur let some of the tension he'd been carrying drop. Eames was fine, and clearly wanted him to step back but it was hard to watch. He followed in near silence, and moved to corner Eames before he could slip into the driver's seat. "Do you want me to stay or go?" he asked quietly. Arthur half wanted to be there, to be someone close by that could step in if necessary, but if Eames didn't want him to witness any of it, Arthur understood.

"If you're considering staying because you're worried, don't. The last thing I need is to trap you again." Eames put his hand briefly on Arthur's shoulder before stepping around.

He'd defer to Eames' judgement, Arthur didn't want to make the situation worse. "I'll be at the inn," he said, "offer to join me still stands." Because after a few days of it, Eames would probably want somewhere else to be. It might be better if Arthur stayed elsewhere, it would give Eames an excuse to leave, and a place to go. He stowed his stuff inside the transport and held out a hand for Eames' bag to put up before he climbed in.

"Alright, I'll drop you off."

The drive to the hotel was quick and Eames' father managed to stay mostly quiet the whole way, even if he was radiating dissatisfaction. Eames parked. "This is you. I'm afraid I won't be able to visit as often as I had said. I can give you my address if you'd like but otherwise..."

"Yeah," Arthur said, stepping out and staring up at the inn. Not what he was used to by any means, as far as rooms went. He could tell by the architecture alone, colorful little building that it was, but it seemed well maintained. Rustic. He dropped his gaze back to Eames, wishing he could know exactly what Eames wanted. If he should stay away or be there every morning.

He crouched down to retrieve the pad and take down the address. "I've got a few things to take care of," he said evasively, but most of it he'd rather wait until Yusuf had him declared dead. "But if you need me, just, send a wave."

Arthur understood the need for space, for distance. In a day or so, he assumed Eames would be fine and over him. Might even realize how much of an asshole Arthur was and be glad they'd ended things quickly. They were back in the real world, no dependency, none of the intense psychological need for each other. He looked away to hide the bitter hurt. It wasn't justifiable. He did want Eames to be happy, but it was an abstract and conflicted want. He shoved it down. Eames deserved to be happy without him, and Arthur wouldn't punish him for it.

Eames shoved his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. "I'll keep it in mind. And I'll wave you before I plan on dropping by. Anyway, you promised to keep in touch," he reminded, already taking half a step back.

Arthur nodded, feeling supremely awkward and unable to walk away as effortlessly as he used to. He scooped up his things and headed resolutely for the inn. He refused to look back, refused to say goodbye. It was ridiculous. He'd lived on his own for years, one month was barely worth a mention if you looked at the numbers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit early this week since I'm going on vacationnn

To say that Eames missed Arthur would have been an understatement.

There was always something: a detail that would serve as a reminder, or a thing he would pick up that he thought Arthur might like, only to put it back down again. He pined, he looked at his comm _a lot_ , he cursed everything when he caught himself doing it, he resumed pining. But mostly, he worried. Arthur had said he needed space and he would have it, and what good would a five minute call even do? Because that was all he could manage during the day and he hoped that Arthur was sleeping at night. He had Yusuf's pills, after all. He would be touched if Arthur was the one to call first - he had promised - but perhaps Eames wasn't as ever present in Arthur's thoughts as Arthur was in his. Understandable. If Eames ever thought he could get over him, it seemed less and less likely by the day. It would be months that would have to tell.

The mission from Hera, now largely publicized because why wouldn't it be, was landing in two days by the time he finally had some time to himself, by virtue of ignoring the next heap of things that needed to be done. The early morning was cloudy and promised imminent rain. His father was still asleep, exhausted after last night's bout of shouting, and probably would remain so if the weather kept up. There was time. If he took the transport, he could be at the inn by breakfast time. It was too late to send a wave - if Arthur was busy today, he was busy, a call would do nothing to change those plans.

The ride was quick and pleasant in the absence of traffic and Eames parked just outside, shutting the engine and shouldering the bag of vegetables he had picked up for Florence. When she greeted him somewhat sadly, the worry picked back up without missing a beat. Arthur wasn't eating again, Florence informed him. He should be in though, just recently, too, and he kissed her on the cheek in thanks, taking the stairs two at a time. He paused momentarily by the door before taking a deep breath and knocking. "Arthur?"

The door swung open, and...

Skinny - skinnier than Eames had left him - pale, with dark circles under his eyes that rivaled the ones Eames had seen after the reaver crash, his hair a mess and the room didn't smell particularly pleasant either. "Jesus- Arthur, what the hell?" Eames stepped more towards Arthur than into the room, raising a hand to Arthur's cheek automatically, pushing away his hair. "I told you to keep in contact and I have to find out from Florence that you haven't been eating or sleeping by the looks of it. For godsakes, darling, what happened?" The room seemed to be in complete disarray, which was so unlike Arthur, Eames couldn't help but stare. And he'd thought Arthur had been alright when they parted ways - apparently not, if it took less than a week to deteriorate this far.

Arthur blinked then pushed Eames' hand away. "You have the stupid sedatives, and I'm not hungry. Nothing _happened_ ," he said quickly shifting from blank to hostile and defensive. "Do you need something?" he demanded.

"What? No, I put them in your things!" The pills had definitely gone in Arthur's bag and unless there was a hole, there was no way they could have fallen out. And Arthur looked like hell. _Jesus._ "I... Came to see if you'd like to have breakfast with me."

"I'm not hungry," Arthur repeated, less aggressively.

"Walk with me then? Please." Fresh air would do him good and might even work up an appetite. Eames was almost afraid to ask when was the last time that Arthur had eaten. "I've missed you, you know." And he hadn't received any waves from Ariadne, either, but she was no doubt swamped with well wishers and friends. He'd come expecting to enjoy Arthur's company, if he couldn't have anything else, but even this seemed to be an unreasonable desire. What had happened?

Arthur softened and nodded his head. It took him a moment to find his shoes in the mess, and he pulled them on while he sat on the bed. "You could have waved," Arthur said, words slightly stilted before standing and heading for the door.

"I only realized I was free this morning and waving wouldn't have changed if you were free or not," Eames explained, watching Arthur walk. At least he had the energy to do something but stand and look like death. Maybe he'd eaten something at some point.

"I meant--" Arthur started to say, but cut himself off, heading down the stairs. A checked sigh and Eames followed.

"Is there anyone else staying here?" He'd only been in and out and so far the inn was mostly silent. A stray cat crossed his path and he leaned down to run a hand across its back. "Beside these guys, that is."

"A few people," Arthur admitted, scowling. "The animals are twice as loud."

"What, no way. I remember these buggers. It took me a couple of weeks to even find out there were cats here. Must be mating season or some rot. Sorry about that."

"Yeah, because it's clearly your fault," Arthur said sarcastically. "I'll prove it tonight."

Eames opened the door, belatedly realizing that they sky was still deciding whether to rain or not. Well, it was a only around a mile's walk. He might as well check with Arthur. "Are you alright walking a mile there and then back? We can always take the transport if you'd rather."

"We can walk," Arthur asserted. "Which way?"

"Right from here," Eames directed, letting Arthur set the pace. In this light he looked better, less breakable, but he tried to approximate if it was plausible for Arthur to move into the guest room. Then again, yelling cats were better than the emotional discharge that came with yelling people, so perhaps it was best to leave it be. "Florence has been worried that you aren't eating," he tried, weighing the topic between them. Arthur would probably get pissed but that would be nothing new. He'd change the topic if he needed.

"She's mistaken. I think she's used to people with larger appetites, I doubt I could stomach those portions after subsisting on dried fruits and crackers," Arthur defended immediately. "How's your father?"

"I see," Eames sighed, but left it alone. "Fine, finally ran out of energy to talk. I'm not sure he's going to walk any better so I'm retrofitting the house to accommodate the cane and fixing all the things that broke during my absence." He shrugged. "I guess it's a good thing Rook was in such bad shape - I wouldn't have stayed otherwise and then felt terrible about it forever more."

"Did he ever explain how he fractured his hip?"

"Fell off a step stool fixing a wiring problem. At his age you can trip and fall and break something but since it was a little bit higher it was only expected. Speaking of which, the rescue mission to Black Rock should be touching down tomorrow. If you want to go meet them that is."

"I can't. Yusuf's just reported my death, be a little strange if I turned up alive. I'll meet with Yusuf once the Alliance clears out completely, unless you want to pick him up and bring him here."

Eames put his hands in his pockets. "Got any plans for the afterlife then?"

"Kinsley will find some work for me, and I'll do what everyone does," Arthur answered, trailing off with a soft sigh. "You?"

"Same old," Eames shrugged. For now and... He'd offered Arthur a place on his ship multiple times. He should just take it as a resounding no and not embarrass himself by repeating it further. "At least, as soon as Rook's fixed, and who knows how long that will take. Otherwise some menial jobs doing whatever should suffice."

"Has your father always been like that? Even while you were growing up?" Arthur paused, grimacing. "I didn't make things worse, did I?"

"Not growing up, no. Sure, he was gruff and strict when he wasn't absent doing one thing or another. But after the loss of Serenity Valley and the war in general it was harder and harder to live up to his expectations. After I failed to get the proper medicine for mum it really turned bad." Eames kicked a pebble. "And you did nothing wrong, don't get that into your head. I _think_ he cares, but it's hard to say because it's what I'd like to think. It messes with me just the way you do."

"What do you mean by that exactly? How do I mess with you?" Arthur asked, stepping back from where he had been drifting closer.

"Oh. Bad phrasing, yeah, sorry." Eames chuckled, shaking his head. "What I mean is that when I have a strong feeling towards a person or a strong desire to receive a certain response or feeling, it clouds my judgement." He shrugged once more. "I want him to be my dad, you know, be proud of me, something. I try to find little motions or words that might mean that and when I find something that may be opposite it cuts deeper than it has any right to. So I can't get a read on what he's thinking, if he's thinking anything, and then I'm at a loss. Similarly with you. That's all I meant."

"You're not alone in that," Arthur said, and then added a self-depreciating, "obviously."

"Well I'm not used to it," Eames huffed, looking upwards.

Quiet reigned for a moment, but it wasn't uncomfortable as Arthur fell back into step. "What do you mean you 'failed' to get the proper medicine?" he asked cautiously.

"Remember when you suggested I put in requests for medicine instead of stealing it? Well I tried that, back then. The amount of paper work and red tape was colossal to say the least, even though I knew Ex-Rad was readily available on the Central planets. But not here, not for months after a request. By then it was too late."

"You didn't fail. The system failed," Arthur said. "I'm sorry."

"It sure did. Didn't make me any less of a disappointment though. And if it wasn't that it would be something else." Eames shrugged once more, looking at Arthur instead of at the sky. "Left here, then we're almost there," he said after a pause, pointing and crossing the road languidly, making sure Arthur was following. There was no traffic to even speak of. "But now that we've got that straightened out, tell me, what was your girlfriend like? You've only just mentioned her in passing, so what is the story there?"

Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion, but it cleared quickly. "The one whose nose I broke. She was just... Short term. Left after the nose thing, not surprisingly. I was engaged once though... Charlotte. She was... nice. There's not a story. We didn't work, and she left, got married six months later and moved to Osiris."

"Not even a beginning of a story there? There's got to be. Back before the crash you said you had plenty of happier stories, I remember. You seem loathe to part with them however, and I would like to know, the same way my rather unfortunate ones seem to interest you."

"If you're looking for a happy story, Charlotte isn't it. We were never happy."

"Fine," Eames rolled his eyes, feigning loss of interest. Was Arthur in the habit of getting into miserable relationships? And did their short fling comply with the norm? If it did... The two more or less serious relationships Eames'd been part of had ended because they'd realized they'd wanted something else, parted on equal terms. If possible, he tried to leave with no hard feelings, and he found himself replaying every little detail of everything that had happened to try and figure it out, almost losing the preamble of Arthur's next story.

"Alright, once, I was picking up this guy at a bar, we bought each other a few drinks, finally make it back to my hotel room and things start getting good. I'm trying to undo his shirt, when he stops me and says, 'Hey, I want to try something with you,' so I ask him what he wants to do and I kid you not, the guy wanted to lick my eyes, not even the lids, my actual eyes." Arthur's smile was equal parts disgusted and amused as Eames grimaced. "Needless to say, neither of us got what we wanted."

"What is up with that preoccupation? They probably taste salty, if at all, and are some what squishy like a grape if you push, less so, maybe. This I am assuming by the taste of tears and what happens when you touch them when your eyes are closed. Also a stellar way to get an infection, I bet." Who picked up guys to try and lick their eyeballs, honestly? He shook his head. "And here we are," he said, walking up the steps to the diner, letting Arthur take the lead.

"It vaguely disturbs me that you've put thought into it," Arthur quipped as he held the door open for Eames before stepping through himself, "Also, we're not about to test that theory--" he cut himself off sharply, and then tried to smooth it over, "so if you ever, I don't want to know about it."

"I _just_ put thought into it. You can't tell a story like that and not expect the audience to put thought into it. But I'll strive to keep you uninformed of my eyeball licking escapades." Eames rolled his eyes, taking a seat at one of the tables and waving over a waitress as Arthur slid in opposite. Although Arthur seemed to be trying to cover up again, Eames'd assumed they'd be in correspondence now that... Except that Arthur hadn't contacted him at all before and then looking like hell... Maybe Arthur was depressed. But depressed people didn't usually accept to take mile long walks to diners and tell gross stories, not until they were out of their rut. Half an hour couldn't sure that. But looking at Arthur now, he couldn't pin anything but exhaustion from little sleep and little food - Arthur was perfectly animated like there was nothing wrong. "Anyway, the pancakes here are pretty good," he said, picking up the menu and flipping it open.

Arthur smiled. "My father took me to a place like this once," he said. "I wonder..." he flipped through it as he spoke, smile widening, "Belgian waffles. He was amazed and ordered a bunch to be boxed up and taken home, and we had them every morning for almost a week." And then Arthur started to chuckle, "And then he found out that Belgian waffles weren't even Belgian, they were North American, and the name just stuck through the centuries. It wasn't a long lost cultural symbol, it was just a big waffle." His laughter subsided some, "I was just glad to have food that wasn't decoration."

Arthur's smile and laughter were distracting on top of it. It was like a whole different person was sitting across from him than the one that had opened the inn room door. "Belgian waffles? Isn't that the Earth-That-Was country that made the multitools? The ones with the crosses on them?" Geography was a far more imprecise concept than astrogation when history came into play, so he never really gave it much mind. "But they're everywhere, I bet you can get them in the Core, too. But don't tell me he did the same with french fries - chips here. Also North American, aren't they?" He slumped comfortably in his chair, taking half a glance at the menu as the waitress arrived. "I'll have a short stack with a side of sausage and a coffee," he said, drifting off expectantly at the end and looking to Arthur. Perhaps he'd changed his mind about not being hungry.

Arthur hesitated for a moment, then ordered a plate of eggs and sausage. Eames let the corner of his lips twitch up as Arthur surrendered the menu. Perhaps Arthur just needed a distraction or work to do in order to eat and vacations just didn't sit well.

"It is a country from Earth-That-Was, but the one that developed the multitool was Switzerland, according to scholars at least," Arthur said, slipping back into their conversation, "And I'm sure they are everywhere, but not in the circles we traveled. Not exactly fine dining." The waitress returned, pouring out cups of coffee before disappearing quickly to the kitchens. Arthur started adding packets of sugar and creamer. He smiled a little in amusement, "And he did do the same thing with french fries but before I was born."

"Really? God forbid he stumble on New England Clam Chowder or Turkish Delight. I'm fairly certain hamburgers were named after a city, since they don't feature any ham. Speaking of which, there's a great hamburger place on the other side of town, real vegetables and all, one of the bright sides to coming back here. Same with the eggs you just ordered, although I suppose you're used to that. And your bananas."

"He won't. What is Turkish Delight anyway?" Arthur asked, a little shakily like he wanted to change the subject.

"I think it's called lokum, too, in the native tongue of Turkey probably - Turkish," Eames carried on after a moment, wanting to move on from the more somber mood. He'd all but forgotten that Arthur's father had died. "It's sweet flavored gel with nuts and dates inside, usually covered with powdered sugar. They're quite popular on Verbena, I think, but you can get them almost anywhere since they don't spoil. Also, free refills on the coffee, so you don't have to be too frugal with it."

"Because caffeine and insomnia is such a winning combination," Arthur commented dryly, leaning back as their plates were brought out.

"Plates are hot, luvs," the waitress said as she set them down, "need anything else?"

"No, thank you," Eames smiled, letting the waitress off before turning back to undo the paper wrapping on the napkin holding the utensils together. Perhaps he was wrong regarding the degree of offense Arthur had taken with him for mentioning his father. "You know, my mum used to grow strawberries. The highlight of everyone's existence those were, although there was not even near enough for everyone who wanted some. Dad'd even made pie out of them, if the season was good, then there really was a party."

Arthur laid the napkin out on his lap before he picked up his fork and started in on his breakfast. "How much did she usually get for them?" he asked between bites.

"She didn't." Eames wondered when volunteering information became a form of apology, whether Arthur realized it or not. He cut into a sausage instead of thinking further into it. "Just gave them out, along with the runners if anyone wanted them. Funnily enough they seemed to fail anywhere but our garden." He shrugged. "I think they lasted a whole month after her passing, then wilted and died no matter what we did."

Arthur looked up, slightly surprised. "My mother brought home fresh strawberries once, only time I've ever had organically grown strawberries that weren't frozen first," he said after a moment of consideration.

Eames made a tsking noise. "I would have complained that I can't surprise you but then I remembered that we don't actually have the strawberries any more." The pancakes were certainly enjoyable, especially with all the syrup he'd poured over it, even getting some on the sausages, and the coffee was less bitter. "What are your plans for the rest of the day if not sleeping?" he asked, remembering Arthur's remark about the coffee.

"I don't have any."

"Mm," Eames nodded, in the middle of chewing. He'd figured as much. "Do you want a tour? That way you'll know what's where and you can choose what you'd like to do when you're bored. The inn's right next to the bus stop." It was easy to get lost in the claustrophobic streets unless you knew the flow, which he could easily show Arthur himself.

"What about your father? If you want help, I don't mind."

"He'll manage." Eames rolled his eyes, though he probably shouldn't. "I've done the most urgent things. He won't be happy but that's not new. If something does come up, I'll take off but not today. Today, I'm free," he concluded, pushing his empty plate away and taking up the coffee again.

"In that case, I might take you up on that offer. I'd like to see the town."

"A yes out of a might and I didn't even have to say anything." Eames grinned, watching Arthur relax. "Although put that way I could suspect you had other plans." Probably just weighing how much he wanted to deal with Eames and small town architecture compared to staying cooped up. Well, he didn't mind, the answer was a yes and he got to spend at least a bit more time with Arthur. "Enjoy breakfast, then?" he asked pointing to the Arthur's empty plate. Not hungry didn't cover it - he would have to think of as many venues for entertainment as possible for Arthur if that was what kept him fed and what looked like happy. At least, he hoped so.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but his retort was cut off by the arrival of their waitress, asking once again how everything had been and if they needed anything. When Arthur said he didn't she was quick to ask if they were ready for their checks.

"Yes, thank you," Eames took both the slips as soon as the waitress put them on the table, studying them with utmost interest. It was just breakfast, not to mention Eames' idea.

"Thanks," Arthur said.

"You weren't hungry," Eames raised an eyebrow at him, satisfied that at least there were no loud protests. He got a stern look in return put paid it no mind. Adding the bills up, he took out an even amount of coins, leaving them to pin the receipt as he stood to go. "Now we get to walk it off. I had half a mind to bike here, but the clouds dissuaded me, along with my hope that you'd be up to going somewhere. "

"Where did you want to go?"

"Start from the center and go from there. That's the easiest and there aren't really that many things on the outskirts." Eames headed outside, looking up at the clouds again. It didn't look like immediate rain but he could be wrong. Hopefully it wouldn't decide in the twenty minutes it would take for them to get back to the transport. "Did you have any requests? There is one museum, but I've never actually been in there so I can't tell you what it's about."

"It's your call."

Eames shrugged once more, starting out in the direction from which they'd come. The main street was as good a place to start as any. "Hopefully it doesn't rain before we get there."

Arthur kept pace with him. "Does it rain often?"

"Depends. It's late spring time now, so it's going to rain a fair amount. In a month or two it won't be cloudy unless it rains for all of ten minutes and then is sunny again. Rather inconvenient actually, since there's no sign of it when you're leaving the house and it's all too easy to be caught without an umbrella on your person. This," he waved at the clouds, "at least you can tell, not that it helped me, apparently."

All that got him was a shake of Arthur's head. "We should make it a quick trip back then," he said before looking upwards.

"Jogging? After breakfast? What nonsense." But the clouds are looking a little bit threatening and Eames pursed his lips. "We can speed up but we should be out of the way far before the real torrent starts." Of course, he was always shite at predicting weather and not one to mind a little wet cloth, although he was partial to the particular dim plum shirt he was wearing.

"Should we wait for it to pass?" Arthur asked. They were coming up on the inn and the transport already.

"If it starts it's going to keep going. We might as well see the sights before it gets too bad and then find out what really is in that museum when it does. I have an umbrella in the transport because I'm not actually useless." He opened the door, nodding for Arthur to get inside. Arthur rolled his eyes, but there was an uptick at the corners of his mouth as he slipped into the passenger side. At least Eames wouldn't have to worry about hydroplaning on something that had no wheels.

"Something tells me you don't have two umbrellas," Arthur said, taking advantage of the climate control.

Eames paused, belatedly wondering why the thought hadn't occurred to him as he left the house, because it was a completely logical one. "I do not," he confirmed, trying to look regretful but smiling at the same time. At least he was confident in the thought that he hadn't planned this, but it would have been terribly amusing if he had. He started the car, flicking on the wipers and carefully guiding it on to the road. "At least there'll be even less traffic now, although the cafes will likely be full to the brim."

Arthur gave a flat look then tossed out a fond "Ass. So let's not stop at a cafe."

The phrasing had Eames quickly severing the connection between his mind and mouth. It was strange enough to make him want to drive forever, run away, but with Arthur, a smiling and relaxed one as he was now. The week had done very little to lessen any attachment he felt, but at least he had a tighter leash on how he acted - he wouldn't be sad or forward, either, just sticking to the warm regard angle and being thankful that Arthur still tolerated him. So he kept his eyes on the road, letting a comfortable silence sink around them, broken only by the hiss of warm air and tap of falling rain on the windshield and roof of the transport.

"Some tour guide you are," Arthur commented at length, "I thought you'd have a story for every crack in the pavement."

"I can _make up_ a story for every crack in the pavement," Eames answered readily. "Otherwise, I have far more stories about the fields and outskirts of town than this place. There's not much mischief you can get up to in town's square, you see, unless it's chasing pigeons and bathing in fountains. Not much fountains here, though in the summer we usually popped a fire extinguisher or two. Worst thing to do here, drought isn't so uncommon. But, young, reckless, making ourselves a general nuisance, what can you do." He had even more stories that took place in Yartis but they were not so savory. "I can start listing whose birthday we celebrated where if you'd like though. We're coming up to the school on our right, though."

"The school? As in, there's only this one for the entire town?"

"Well, it is huge as you can see. Getting lost or being late to class was business as usual. But yeah, that's the one. There are more in Yartis and some kids get shipped out there, too, boarding and no." It was the weekend so he was half tempted to sneak in, just for fun, but the fact that they'd have to get out in the rain deterred him. Maybe some other time. "The size made sneaking out a piece of cake, too, better than the primary schools, all of which are scattered around the neighborhoods."

"Is that the theater?"

"Oh yeah," Eames braked near the round building, turning into the driveway. "That's something you ought to see. It's always open because it's a public place even though its on school grounds. The insides are actually real nice. If the school is built with the typical bland white walls, the mayor had unearthed a professional painter for somewhere and the walls are decorated with faux wood work and frescoes. It's not only the school productions that go on in here, either. We don't have to go in, but I'd recommend it."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed and reached for the umbrella, opening it as he stepped out into the rain. It still wasn't terrible, but it was steady, and Arthur circled around to hold the umbrella over Eames as he got out.

He'd parked right near the entrance so he could have just run, but that would render the umbrella useless. As it was, he didn't particularly try to stay under it, the rain was light and Arthur could have it. The door was open as he'd predicted, too early for anything to be going on inside so it was quiet and dark. Until he found the light switch, and the interior lit up with soft lamp light. High ceilings and rippling colors, depictions of scenes from famous plays and riffs on church imagery extended up until Arthur had to crane his head to see. "There we go. Looks completely different than what you'd expect from the outside, doesn't it? Impressive enough even vandals stay away from it."

"How old is this building?" Arthur asked, running his finger very lightly along the paint as he stepped closer to examine the murals.

"I can't say, maybe seventy years ago? Not too long after Hera was terraformed and the cities established. I'm a shitty tour guide when it comes to history and that sort, I only know it's old. It's just the anteroom and the walls of the stairs leading up to the second floor that're like this though, the auditorium itself is fairly standard - at least the acoustics are good, and the lights are off for the productions so it hardly matters." He stood back, letting Arthur walk around. "I can't even say if they're frescoes or not, I just call them that since they're on a wall. Didn't pay much attention in that class either."

Arthur continued to study the room following the painted walls up the stairs as well. "It's a fresco if it's painted while the plaster is drying, a secco if it's painted after it dries," he explained as Eames followed.

"You would know that. But then it's neither because this isn't plaster. Unless that's not a prerequisite."

"Nice view," Arthur commented as he stared out towards the stage, ignoring the paintings for the moment and drawing closer to the edge. "What was the play you were in?"

Eames leaned on the railings as well, looking out towards the darkened stage as well. There were the beginnings of set design ready in place in front of the curtain but he couldn't even guess at what they were planning to put on, the outlines too vague. " _Romeo and Juliet_ ," he answered, rolling his eyes. "Not a real creative choice but I did get to play Mercutio. I quite liked the character - he still makes jokes as he's bleeding out. And I was glad not to participate in the more serious half of the play."

Arthur shook his head, smiling faintly, the silence descending over them for another moment as they both looked out towards the stage.

"Eames," Arthur said abruptly, "do you want to grab a coffee? I mean, not right now, but sometime. Soon."

Eames glanced at his watch, tilting it so it caught the light from the stairs. It had only been an hour, an hour and a half since they had left the diner, definitely not time for more coffee yet. "You mean some other day? Since I had plans for lunch at the very least and dinner, depending on how long we end up driving around. Not that the answer is no at all, just, why do you ask?"

Arthur fidgeted then faltered. "Because... that's what you do." More hesitation. Eames squinted at him, suspicious. How coffee related to anything - theater, rain, the time, maybe - was lost on him. "I've just really missed coffee."

"Alright, well, there'll be coffee for lunch, more than likely, so you can have some then." He glanced around once more. Maybe Arthur was bored again? "Had enough of this place and want to move on?" he tried, gesturing towards the exit.

"I don't want coffee with lunch- yeah, let's just go." Arthur moved away from the railing quickly and trotted down the stairs, pausing at the entrance while Eames caught up. The rain had gotten heavier. "Do you want to take the umbrella and drive up?"

No coffee with lunch then. Something was off but it didn't seem terrible so Eames let it slide. He tutted at the rain and accepted the umbrella. "I'll just pull up on the curb then, there's no one around. Really should have grabbed a second umbrella but I was hoping it would rain later." He shook his head, opening the umbrella and walking the several yards to the transport, starting it and tossing the wet plastic in the back before pulling up smoothly to the entrance.

Arthur stepped out, catching a few drops of water before climbing in the transport. "Thanks," Arthur said, settled once more. "Where to next?"

"Well, we haven't even reached the center of town so there, I suppose. There's the central square but maybe we'll have to stop by the museum after all. Maybe it'll tell us something about the theater, too." Eames pulled out of the driveway, turning back onto the road they had been following. "Should have waited until better weather."

Arthur hummed noncommittally. They drove easily through the mostly quiet town, stopping at the museum - a crusty old building with the history of terraformation and town leaders as well as artifacts left behind - and at a cafe for lunch. It was somewhat crowded as Eames had predicted and they ran into a school friend - fortunately on her way out - so the conversation was short and mostly promises to catch up later. Otherwise their lunch was undisturbed and they were soon on their way to the other parts of town. Arthur told him about his father's love for museums, mentioning something Eames had said what seemed like ages ago: doing things other people no longer could. So he wasn't so surprised when the next idea was to pick up some Turkish Delight.

The request took them to a lively market hidden under tarps and bustling even as the rain dripped through the seams between. As the largest one, it was easier to find rare things but also easy to get distracted by handmade dolls and decorations as well as samples. It was similarly difficult not to get recognized and he ended up spending fifteen minutes worrying that Arthur wanted to go already while he was still in the grips of a particularly clingy conversation about the weather or alternatively fearing that he had lost Arthur somewhere after having taken a sharp left toward some samples that looked particularly good as a dinner ingredient.

Arthur didn't stray far, mostly looking at things in the vicinity and probably silently marveling at the prices. They were probably a fourth of what the same thing but frozen cost on Ariel. "Sorry about that," Eames sighed, once they finally managed to find their way to a less crowded area. "What should have been a short trip turned into several days worth of talking. We're finally through to what I'd call the Arabic section I guess. They should be here and if they're not, someone here should know where to find them." As it happened, it only took a couple of steps to find the stand with rows upon rows of colored, powdered squares, ranging from white to bright pink or green. Eames let Arthur choose, his own hands already weighed down with a bunch of groceries he'd thought to buy, the friendly ten year old in charge of the stand encouraging Arthur to try anything he'd like.

Eames had gotten dragged into another conversation with a neighboring vendor who'd spied the groceries he was carrying and started asking about what he was planning on making. When he finally did turn around, Arthur was already toting a small plastic bag, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Got everything you came here for?" he asked gamely, not putting the possibility that the sweets were foisted on Arthur without him having to even pay. Arthur's answer was interrupted by the ringing of Eames' comm and Eames was not even a little surprised when the caller id was his father's. "Yeah?" he answered, raising his voice as if he had to speak over a loud noise. It wasn't quiet but he could hear everything on the other line perfectly well. "Tell you what I'll call you back as soon as I get out of here, how about that?" he said before hanging up without waiting for an answer. "Looks like time's up."

"Your father?" Arthur surmised as he started to head back towards the transport, weaving through the crowd as gracefully as he could manage.

"Yeah. He's asking where I am, as opposed to demanding I come back immediately, which means it's not so terrible after all." Eames sighed as they walked, ducking under the umbrella as Arthur held it up. He dumped the bags into the back seat to free up his hands before trading Arthur the umbrella and waiting for him to sit then walking around to the other side of the car. Settled, he took out the comm again. "Give me a minute." The conversation didn't last long, short phrases in the positive or negative from Eames' side before Eames hung up and turned to Arthur with a long suffering look. "Want to come for dinner at our house? He insists, I say do whatever you want. He can't hold anything against you."

Arthur considered for a moment, glancing at the bags in the back seat as sneakily as he could, probably trying to guess if Eames had bought enough for three. Which he had, and then some. "Sure... Ollie," he said, smirking as the transport rumbled to life.

"Call me that one more time and I'll leave catnip in your room," Eames said sweetly, leaning forward to check for traffic as he turned on to one of the roads. The fact that Arthur had accepted was conflicting - on the optimistic side, his presence might encourage his father to behave, on the pessimistic, it wouldn't and Arthur would think him some sort of abused child. On the realistic, it would probably be a night of playing awkward questions and answers. That and Arthur meeting his father... Well, he had already, so it didn't quite reek of terrible romcom, but it was uncomfortable nonetheless. "Curry alright for dinner?"

Arthur chuckled. "Curry is fine," he answered before sneezing into his shoulder. "I was almost named Elbert, Oliver's not so bad."

"Bless you. Elbert?" Eames made a face although he kept his eyes on the road. "No offense to whatever grandfather that came from but that's objectively terrible." There was no other reason parents would consider such a name if it wasn't to honor some relative or another. "Oliver isn't a bad name it just isn't me. Neither is Ollie for that matter, ollie out is not funny either especially since I've heard it a hundred times. Liv is just terrible. Tolly and Nol and damn Olaf are also down there. I was glad to get away from all those bastardizations. Although I assume you don't like Artie, either. Or Art. Or Tuurrrrr." He remembered a classmate named Arthur and how, besides King Arthur references, the class could only come up with four terrible nicknames. Unlike the sixteen he had to deal with.

"Tur is a new one. I've never been called that," Arthur admitted. "Tolly, Nol and Olaf, though," he fought to hold back a laugh.

"Yeah, the poor kid couldn't get away from it. Followed him around throughout his life, as soon as people learned of it, they started using it. I guess he kind of looked like a Turr."

"I think you'll appreciate this, any guesses as to what mother's maiden name was?" Arthur asked gamely.

They stopped at a light so Eames turned to look at Arthur, continuing. "Don't tell me it was Turr, that would be terrible."

Arthur made a face, "Fuck no," as if the even the notion were offensive just by virtue of being wrong. He recovered quickly, lips quirking in the hint of a smile as he waited a beat. "Her maiden name," he let the suspense build another beat, "it was 'Darling'."

" _Really_?" Eames snorted before breaking out into a full laugh, successfully missing the green light to go. The one car behind them irately pulled ahead and he finally let go of the break, continuing down the street still laughing. "Well I guess you can't complain when I call you that!" The one complaint that did happen was a long time ago, but still. Arthur could have been a Darling. Who would have thought.

"Told you you'd appreciate it. And if I can't complain about Darling, you can't complain about Oliver, can you?"

"What is it, do you want special permission to call me Oliver?" Eames let the last chuckle fade, catching his breath and turning once more, rolling carefully into the driveway. "Only around my father though, so you don't get us confused. That I can forgive you and not threaten you with catnip. All other times it's Eames, got it, _darling_?" He elbowed Arthur playfully before stepping out, the rain blocked by the roof of the garage door.

Arthur raised a brow as he stepped out of the transport and grabbed most of the bags before Eames even had time to open the door from his side. "I just pointed out a double standard. You were the one that said I couldn't complain if you called me darling." Arthur explained, "At least Oliver is your name."

"I never said you couldn't complain. I just think I'm pretty ready to accept any consequences that come with it. Are you ready for the consequences of calling me any variation of Oliver?" Eames raised his eyebrows, opening the umbrella in one of the corners and shouldering the rest of the groceries before opening the door to go inside. It led straight to the kitchen and he dumped most of the bags on the table, beginning to organize the ingredients he would need and those to put away, leaving room for Arthur to put his bags.

"What?" Arthur barely refrained from raising his voice as he followed, "just a minute ago in the transport, your words, exactly, 'Well I guess you can't complain when I call you that,' your words, Oliver." He set the bags down gently and began withdrawing the items and sorting them.

"Rhetorical, darling, oh my god that makes me itchy." He gave an exaggerated full body shiver. "No one's going to stop you from complaining, certainly, you just don't. I do. Therefore my opinion must be stronger. Also, see this?" He took out a small tin from one of the high shelves. "Catnip. I am not kidding."

And Arthur smiled, confident. "I know you won't," he asserted. "Besides, even if you did, I'd just throw it out. Your threats could use some work, Ol-liv-er."

"Oh, _won't_ I? It's dried, you know, and I never said I was going to obvious about where I'll put it. Have fun getting the petals out of the carpet, _sweetheart_." Eames shelved the tin for the time being, already considering slipping all the pepper into Arthur's portion of the curry. But perhaps that would be excessively cruel. Instead he focused on putting the groceries away, sticking his head out into the common area for a little just to make sure his father was actually home. He was watching the television in the other room, a perfectly good sedative but looked away for long enough to nod his head in a greeting. Fair enough, it was Eames' turn to cook dinner anyway and he rather have their happy brand of noisy than an awkward silence. Turning back to the kitchen, he gathered the prepared ingredients on the table, starting the rice.

"Do you not have vacuums in Dell? And who says I'm even letting you in my room?" Arthur asked, voice lowered a little bit now that Eames had inadvertently reminded him of his father's presence.

"Who says I can't get into your room while you're sleeping? And have fun vacuuming out your pockets, too. Not to mention cat hair - because they come running as soon as there's even a whiff of the stuff - is impossible to get out even with a vacuum _and_ they'll follow you in hopes for more. Since you're here, just slice those for me, would you, _luv_." He handed Arthur a knife and a cutting board.

Arthur scoffed, "While I'm sleeping? And assuming I did fall asleep, do you really think you could break in and slip something in my pocket without me noticing?" But he moved dutifully to chop, setting up a space before confirming how thin to slice and moving his wrist in a quick, precise rhythm.

" _All_ your pockets, also not so difficult with the piles of clothes on the floor you have going. Actually, you don't even need to be asleep but I would hope you are. You were on something different before Yusuf's pills, is there none around?" Eames' tone switched to concern as he chopped his portion of vegetables.

Arthur tensed. "Prescription," he said by way of answer, "and I looked into them after what Yusuf said, the side effects, the long term ones, aren't worth it." His tone had gone flat, clinical.

"Okay, okay," Eames soothed, regretting the change of topic. Still, he had more answers than what he'd started out with. Arthur had barely been sleeping after all. And there was nothing he could do about it but find something that would take care of the problem. "We'll figure something out. I'll ask Yusuf what he'd recommend as second best tomorrow. Have you tried seeing a shrink about it?" he asked hesitantly. "I know I've avoided it like fire but I wonder what the experience would be like."

"Stop. Just stop." Arthur said tightly, the knife hitting the cutting board again and again in sharp staccato. "I know we've been sharing personal stories, but back off. There is no 'we' here," he hissed, muttering under his breath as Eames stared. What? Butt didn't take long before regret seeped into every line of his body. He set down the knife gingerly.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no, stay. Don't. But you do realize that friends have a 'we' and an 'us', right? And I have every right to worry about you. But this time I wasn't suggesting anything, I was actually just wondering what that is even like, sitting down in a big comfy chair and talking about that time a dog bit you when you were five and how it might be the reason why you love to feed pigeons," Eames explained, trying not to gesture with the knife too much and lighten the mood. "Also, if I wanted you to leave every time you lost your temper you'd have to move to a different planet by now." It seemed Arthur's opinion of him hadn't changed during the week - nor had he expected it to, but the day had been so fun and, well... It was useless to think about it so he didn't, concentrating on scaling the fish in his hand.

Arthur went quiet but the chopping resumed. "It's not pleasant," he started eventually, "Or maybe it's because I don't like to talk about issues. I guess that's childish. To pretend the problems don't exist. Sometimes, I'm afraid that if I think about... everything... " he paused, going still, "There are nights I don't want to wake up."

And there it was. The last phrase connected the dots that had been hanging, from Arthur's strange behavior to terrible state. What might have happened if he'd come a day later... No, that, he would not think of. How many other times had Arthur been on an edge and Eames missed it completely? He bit the inside of his lip, spurring those thoughts as well. All he could do was try and get away more, not that he had been hesitant about it before, but if it seemed selfish before and this was a pressing concern. The only thing that stopped him from physically reaching out was that his hands smelled distinctly of fish and no one would appreciate that. "I wouldn't say it's childish. Not really healthy though." "What _do_ you want to wake up for?" he questioned gently, hoping for something to remind Arthur should he need to.

"Days like today," Arthur admitted, "I don't mean--" he started over, "I had a good time, and it was nice to know that I still can. And because I've realized I would hurt people if I didn't." He smiled weakly as he brought over his ingredients, sliced neatly and kept separate.

Eames let go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, slowly, trying to parse if he should be happy or worried. Arthur had enjoyed himself today and even admitted as much, so at least that was something. There wasn't much he could do regarding what Arthur got up to and he couldn't be in two places at once. Neither did he want to make a nuisance out of himself. Eames limited himself to a "That's true," trying to settle himself into something that resembled calm, bringing both chopping boards to the stove and taking out two pans. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself today. I kept on getting distracted away from my shitty tour guide job."

Arthur laughed. "I know, I deserve a refund," he deadpanned. "How long until dinner?"

"You got your candy. And just ten minutes more now, mostly to heat it all through." Eames dumped the first cutting board into one pan, and the other into the second before fishing out a couple of cans to add into it. "I'll help you set the table, finding all the drawers is a bit of a nightmare." Eames rinsed his hands with a bit of soap, drying them with a hanging towel before opening the first drawer. "Here are the forks and all - the dining table's through there."

They set the table quickly but as soon as eames senior sat down the conversation turned awkward. His father prodded and Arthur evaded, while Eames was left to do nothing but chew morosely. Eventually, he had enough of the awkward back and forth and started his father on the track of war stories - a wrong move. When his father mentioned the fact that there had been a glitch on one of the cruisers that sent the whole ship into decommission and Arthur rose to excuse himself for an imaginary cigarette.

Damn.

Eames watched Arthur leave, staying seated only because Arthur looked like he needed a moment alone. His father was finishing up his food, and once he was finished he stood on his own, made sending his regards sound offensive and hobbled carefully towards his room.

Eames collected the plates, leaving Arthur's unfinished one be for now and headed outside with a detour to the sink. It was nice, fresh after the rain and he rook a couple of steps out the door before pausing. "You alright?"

"A whole five minutes, I'd say you're making progress," Arthur said with a chuckle, crossing the distance between them easily. "I'm fine though, thanks. We can head back in."

"Actually it's been closer to fifteen. Dad's gone to sleep if you want to go back to the inn, I'll drive you. I doubt you want to help me do dishes."

"You took care of everything else today, I don't mind doing the dishes," Arthur quipped and moved to head inside before Eames could utter so much as word of protest.

Eames sighed, exaggerating the motion, and followed Arthur in, grabbing the towel. He might as well dry and it wasn't as if it was going to get darker - Georgia was in the sky tonight. "So you're going to sleep tonight?" he questioned over the water. If anything he hoped Arthur would at least lie about it to make him feel better and they had a pretty long day. "I'll stop by tomorrow after I see Yusuf and co."

"I'll try," Arthur said, tetchy. Eames hoped the pills were still in the pocket he'd put them. "Yusuf might need you to stop at a bank, you can take what I owe you from the cash he owes me," Arthur scrubbed the remains of food away and set the pans down for Eames to dry and put up.

"Alright," Eames agreed, wondering how much the reward money even was. This was going way faster with two, but at the same time he wondered if it was better if Arthur left after all. The day had been grand but also tugged sharply on his heartstrings - perhaps it was better of he visited an hour or two at a time instead of twelve.

It went quiet, and Arthur let the silence settle in for a moment. "So," he said, voice low, "were you any good as Mercutio?"

"You're asking the wrong person - there're no recordings and I only heard praise which means nothing. Can't even say if the production was any good. It was fun though and I still remember all my lines," Eames laughed, shaking his head.

"You can't tell me you remember your lines, and not expect me to ask you to act a couple out. We can go outside, but you are going to do it."

"Fine," Eames rolled his eyes dramatically. "When we go outside. I'll think of one for then. But I don't only remember all my lines, I remember all the lines to the whole play, I've heard them read and misread enough times to sear them into my memory even if I hadn't made a point of it. I'm fairly certain the drama teacher was somewhat upset when I graduated that same year. It was all I could do not to memorize every play I came across after that - the whole idea of it was that infectious."

"Do you see productions often, or is it just _Romeo and Juliet_?" Arthur asked as he finished the last of the dishes and shook out his hands to dry them off.

"No. It's not the same with recordings and I don't ever have the time when I find I'm in town for a performance. I do watch movies and the quality has gone somewhat uphill but still hasn't recovered to the Earth-That-Was days. I guess no one really has the time for it now and those who do aren't exactly worldly enough to do anything worthwhile." Eames handed Arthur the towel, putting away the last couple of dishes and wiping both tables off as he talked. They had gotten done in half the time, Murphy might still be in the sky still.

"Ready?" Arthur asked, already heading out the door.

Eames started without preamble as soon as he was through the door: "Oh, then, I see Queen Mab has been with you!" He might as well do the one about drugs and dreams - it was his safest bet out of all the monologues in a play about love and reason. He still remembered the various inflections, beats and mannerisms, walking around Arthur as he went through them, changing direction and moving sharply, laughing, then sobering, pausing the right amount of time, thoughtfully, as a line that wasn't his interjected.

"True, I talk of dreams which are the children of an idle brain begot of nothing but vain fantasy," he turned away, looking upwards, clasping his hands at the small of his back. "Which is as thin of substance as the air and more inconstant than the wind, who wooes even now the frozen bosom of the north and, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, turning his face to the dew-dropping south." He opened the transport door with a flourish, bowing slightly and gesturing for Arthur to sit.

"Eames, I am impressed," Arthur admitted easily as he waited for Eames to come around to the driver's side and start the transport. "You could make a career out of that, if you wanted."

"Can't say I haven't considered it." Eames cleared his throat then yawned, sliding behind the wheel and starting the transport, turning and bracing his hand on Arthur's seat as he backed out of the driveway. "But like I've said. There's very little good coming out recently and all the old doesn't exactly get noticed often. I'll bet you anything whatever they're putting up in the theater is from five hundred years ago at least and maybe twenty people will show up for opening night. More if it's a school production because at least then the parents are obligated to show. Otherwise who really needs it?"

Arthur mirrored the yawn only a moment later. "Do you want to find out what it is?"

"Yeah, sure, it should be in the news," Eames agreed almost automatically, rethinking his answer only after it was out of his mouth. Well, it was just a play, what the hell, and now he was curious as to what they were showing. That and the outing wouldn't be long this time so it seemed to be a fair idea.

"Any guesses?"

"Could be a rendition of _Art of War_ for all I know," Eames shrugged, lifting a hand from the wheel to gesture. "Ask Florence for the paper tomorrow and you'll find out, everything that's going on - which isn't much - is always listed on the back page. Then you can tell me when I drop by with whatever Yusuf has to offer."

Arthur hmm'd. "I'll ask her when I get breakfast," he promised, two fold, that he'd check and that he'd eat. Eames smiled. "Thank you," Arthur said sincerely as they pulled up at the inn.

"I don't like it when you say thank you," Eames groused, half joking. Last time Arthur had meant it as a form of good bye and now, too, although this time it was more physical than it had been emotional. He turned into the driveway, braking smoothly in front of the door and valiantly trying to convince himself that asking for a goodnight kiss would not be good for either of them, not even if he could get a short laugh out of it. "I'll comm before I get here next time, since I can't expect you to sit around in your room all the time. Which, yes, was a hint. Off you pop." He inclined his head, turned slightly towards Arthur, set on watching him get up and walk out.

Arthur rolled his eyes but smirked, getting out, then threw up a hand and giving a slight wave just before he ducked inside the inn.

There wasn't much to do in a still transport but Eames managed to hang around a little longer than he should, giving a short salute to Florence and speeding away as she stepped out. Rude, perhaps, but he wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. He vaguely regretted not stashing a small sprig of catnip in Arthur's collar after all, just to make himself feel better.

The house was quiet when he got back and he puttered around, suddenly devoid of things to do in the darkened rooms. Landing was scheduled for around eight - eleven hours away and he didn't know if he could even get any sleep. He resolved to try anyway, shedding his shoes and shirt and depositing himself on his bed, closing his eyes and reliving the day, refusing to feel at all guilty about it.

It wasn't long until buzzing sounded from his night stand. Eames considered ignoring it but gave in, reaching over to answer the comm. Arthur? The slight fright was alleviated when the first thing to grace his ears was an earsplitting yowl. He dialed back the volume as quickly as he could, already laughing. "They have earplugs for that you know, they have earplugs so good all you can hear is your own blood rushing through your head, forget cats," he grinned, lifting up the blinds to cast a bit of light into the room.

"Yes, because I'm absolutely comfortable when robbed of my senses." Arthur replied dryly, getting up from the bed to show Eames the door, "A child could undo these locks." He faltered. "Well. I just wanted to prove that to you, I shouldn't have woken you. Goodnight," he said quickly and hung up without giving Eames a chance to respond.

And that was probably for the best since an invitation to stay at the house was all but on the tip of Eames' tongue. The locks were certainly stronger and Arthur could always take the loft. Eames stared at the blank screen for another several seconds before putting the comm back where it had been. No choice but to try and sleep again although Arthur seemed to be having other ideas. He had a full schedule ahead of him after all.

Eames tossed and turned, debating whether or not to send a short message - it was bound to be something innocuous and pointless but he hadn't gotten much in during the call. Then again, they were going to see each other tomorrow, for godsakes, clearly spending the whole day together had been a terrible idea. A yawn and he finally drifted off for his three hours, waking habitually only to realize there had been no nightmare to speak of and going straight back to sleep until morning.

The morning was less clear, his mind feeling muggy and as if a nightmare had been right on its heels. Eames had little time to sort any of it out, washing and shaving hastily so he had time to make breakfast, leaving it covered on the table for whenever his father woke. There wasn't much time to spend eating it himself and he was almost certain Yusuf would want to celebrate - he'd eat then.

The arrival on the shuttles from the cruiser were fittingly dramatic, with enough fanfare to be important, at the very least. There was quite enough hugging to last him a lifetime and enough questions about Arthur he thought the man would be surprised anyone cared. The whole process took several hours of talking and waiting for others to come on the next shuttle until they the cruiser was cleared out. Black Rock, since everyone had resolutely named it that, had been home to eighty-three thousand people - a small city - and even more fatal crashes - it was surprising that nothing had been done about it sooner. The cruiser would have to take another trip. But in a world of trillions and people going missing all too often, both on purpose and not, perhaps it wasn't so strange.

Yusuf had given his shpeal to whoever had been in charge on the cruiser itself and a quick stop at the bank left Eames with a heavy purse of credits he wasn't sure what to do with, locking it in the transport when they went out for drinks. Arthur didn't owe him that much for the inn and he would imagine it would be safer to leave it in a bank account than carry it around. Objectively, it wasn't enough to fix Rook, either, but that was his own problem - Tam knew he couldn't pay her back if he didn't have Rook and she trusted him enough to do that, at the very least. He forgot about it as he talked to Yusuf, deciding to think on it later.

It was around one in the afternoon when they waved goodbye as he dropped Yusuf off at the docks to catch the flight to his own moon. The drive to the inn was otherwise uneventful, although he had considered getting flowers to put the money in, which meant he was slightly tipsy. Instead he settled on a colorfully wrapped bento box, taking it with him as he stepped out of the transport. Ach, he forgot to call ahead again.

The inn was busy by the time he parked and ducked in, easily spotting Arthur at one of the tables. "Ohhey, is it lunch time?" Eames perked up immediately, crossing the small lobby to put the box on the table. "This is for you. Sorry I didn't call, there was stuff and I forgot. You've got about ten hello how are yous, along with more pointed questions that I've already forgotten. Yusuf is catching a flight today and said that he'll post more of the pills as soon as he gets home. I'd expect them by the end of the week although they'll come to me since I'll probably still be here then." He was rambling slightly but that was because he had things to say and it was hard to not talk in streams after a whole morning of doing just that.

"Hm, he'll need to be careful. Until it's been approved by a pharmacological board, he could land himself in trouble sending out an untested drug," Arthur said, ordering Eames a glass of water and kicking out the chair for him to sit. "Are you hungry?"

Eames eyed the water, but sat down and drank it anyway. "Just ate not too long ago. Also I'm not drunk," he stated, raising his eyebrows and pointing the pinky of the hand holding the glass in emphasis. "I drove here, I'm fine." Not that driving was a prerequisite to being sober but he really was fine. More open maybe, but fine. "So. I suspect you did stay inside the whole day, didn't you?" he asked, smiling anyway.

"Well, Arthur Milton was just promoted and Gregory Volus bought a new car, Nicolas Shen moved into a new apartment. It's been a busy day," Arthur said, smiling in return.

"Fun." Eames had tried the alias thing once and the amount of simple hacking that went into that was not worth the effort if no one was going to check. "Find out what they're putting on in the theater at least?"

"'The Importance of Being Earnest.' Have you seen it?"

"I haven't actually, although I've read it - quite liked it, too. Although I've always found it hard to believe people couldn't get married because the suitor was adopted. It's not as if it makes him any less of an heir to whatever money."

"That kind of thing still happens. My mother was frowned upon, and so was I, for a long time. My paternal grandparents won't speak to me," Arthur said. "It's a good play. You ought to find time to see it, you'd get more out of it."

"Strange. Well, less birthdays to worry about I suppose. But what, you won't come with me should I go?" Eames questioned, putting his chin in the palm of his hand and leaning on the table, playing mindlessly with the now empty cup. "Weren't you interested in it as well?" Arthur has asked the question first and found out on his own as well. "Who's putting it on?"

Arthur tried to wrestle back a smile, but couldn't. "I was planing to go regardless. Whether you come with me or see it on your own is up to you." Arthur said, "It's being put on by a community group, upperclassmen and college students."

"Well, then, there you are. All you have to do is tell me when," Eames said with an air of finality, before faltering but making sure to keep it hidden as Arthur stated that it was at 2100 hours that night. Instead of answering, he excused himself to go pour another glass of water. This certainly wasn't distance, no matter how much he enjoyed it. But what was the harm really - a day out here, a night seeing a play there. It was better than getting drunk someplace, that was certain. And if it hurt afterwards, well, that would be later, and it would be better than regretting the missed opportunities. Not to mention Arthur apparently needed monitoring and if he was willing to hang out, well. Eames sat back down, still as relaxed as he had been before, taking a drink.

"Any plans for today then?"

"Only plans to deposit some of the money. What are you doing? And how are the repairs on Rook going, by the way?"

Eames should probably go. He had only planned on staying, well, he hadn't planned on staying long at all. "I have today off, since I didn't know how long the whole deal with the cruiser would take. I thought maybe to clean out the loft but that can wait." Distance, right. He was terrible at this, but if there was some time to spend... he wanted to. There was very little left, just a week, and he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't have to work the whole time. His father had his pension, enough to cover groceries and bills, but the shop was open already, even though he'd just gotten out of the hospital not too long ago. "Unless, you want me to go..." he added on, just in case.

"Actually, I could use a ride. I could help clean the loft in exchange," Arthur offered.

"If you insist. I'm not going to say no. We have quite some time before the play." Eames nodded, already accepting the plans as set. "It's not much cleaning in the moving things around sense as it is actually scrubbing the floors. It hasn't been used in a while and," after last night he thought he might as well clean it if he even considered the possibility Arthur might need a place to stay, if it was late and if he wasn't sober enough to drive and- "it's my favorite place in the house and it'd be nice to at least have that back."

"We set then?" Arthur asked as he stood, grabbing the pad and box of money from the table. "I'd prefer to use different machines, less noticeable."

"Sure." Eames stood. "There are a couple around." Driving around sounded pretty good for now as well, it was nice enough outside. "Off we go then," he gestured, leaving his cup on the table and leading the way out to the transport. "How many do you need, so I can think up a good route for it."

"Three," Arthur answered, sliding into the passenger's seat and putting both the pad and box on his lap, untying the fabric so he could count the credits inside. "You did take money for the room, right?"

Three was doable, although the third would be all the way across town. Still, it wasn't as if they were walking. "Favors," Eames mentioned once more, addressing the second question. "I helped Florence's daughter out when she had been held up on charges by having Pav take another, more sympathetic look over the case. And since I have no interest of marrying the poor girl - that would be barbaric - she was more than happy to settle the debt by letting you stay."

Arthur's head whipped up and his brow furrowed in a blend of confusion and skepticism. "Was that a serious offer? _Marriage_?"

"Well, more like she would be all but happy to give her blessing if I had any interest. Not like, dowry, and she thought she wasn't going to see her daughter again so she might have been a bit overzealous with her thanks." He shrugged once more, setting out on the road from the inn, heading into town. "It was never considered seriously, so I can't say."

"I was a little concerned," Arthur joked, returning to the task of splitting up the coins into four groups, "that it was the custom. Would you have married her if you had been interested?"

Eames wrinkled his brow, half smiling. "If I had to marry everyone I've ever done something nice for, I'd be well on my way into double digits of spouses. But if I was interested, that would be a whole other ball game, wouldn't it? I'd be doing it out of personal gain so technically I wouldn't deserve the chance. Plus, I'm fairly certain she's far more into girls, despite what her mother says, and would have fought the idea on every turn." He couldn't be sure what Arthur was asking: if it was acceptable or if it was a good way to impress a potential in-law having already made plans with the person in question regardless. "I didn't know her very well, so I can't really think of an acceptable answer to that question."

"It was a yes or no question. I think the only acceptable answer is no. Especially with the factors you just mentioned."

"Well, if you already have the answer," Eames drawled, lifting his eyebrows. Not that he minded the question. "I would have asked if you had some specific person in mind. Here's our first bank," he announced, pulling up to it.

Arthur hopped out of the transport to the ATM, with all the air of continuing the conversation when he was done. "Your answer might have been yes, I don't pretend to know where you draw the line on morals," Arthur quipped as soon as he opened the door to get back in. "And that's a plausible assumption," he added sarcastically, "hope my intended's life is endangered so that I can rescue them and win their hand in marriage. I'm almost afraid to ask what the courtship customs actually are here."

"If that was truly a real custom, no one would ever get married. But _actually_ , you have to sacrifice a pig on the altar of the family god before making the ritual walk on your hands towards the intended as a declaration of purpose. Courting itself is done only indoors under the watchful eyes of both pair of parents but no one can talk - only eat and stare at each other, communicating in blinks and body language." Eames finally snickered, the rest of the story having been in a tone of absolute gravity. "What do you think? There's no custom, you just ask someone out, spend some time together doing whatever it is that interests you both then see where to go from there - you know, parents, living arrangements, engagements, marriage, children or no. Now is it really that different from Ariel?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably and Eames tried to gauge what it was that he'd said now. But Arthur was already moving on: "Not really, only if you're part of a prominent couple you might put out announcements for certain milestones and events. Propose with the most expensive ring in the most public venue. All of that shit," he said, looking out the window as they pulled away from the ATM.

"Oh, well, I don't really count that as a cultural difference. That's more for the press and not really obfuscating the process- I figure it's best to keep it simple and clean so there's no room for misunderstandings." Eames paused, considering then refusing to make reference to their relationship. That was over and done with and if he ignored it verbally it might go away on its own. "Did you have to do that?" It was hard, after knowing Arthur as he did, to imagine him as an object of the public eye. It might have been the girl, really, but still it was hard to parse.

"Yeah." Arthur smiled bitterly, shifting through the cash again. "There's a reason I like my privacy. To be fair, I think we were both caught up in the idea of each other. She wanted to get married, I couldn't think of a reason not to, so I proposed. Spent days trying to learn her exact ring size and whether she wanted white gold or platinum, trying to arrange a party both large enough and intimate enough that she would be the center of attention. Had her favorite flowers brought in. She stayed up with her friends and I went to bed alone." He laughed, also tinged with bitterness, "That sounds pathetic, doesn't it? And I should have known, then and there, that if she had been more interested in showing off a ring than being with the guy that gave it to her, that it wasn't about me or us. Live and learn."

"Unfortunate," Eames limited himself to saying, keeping both the slight anger and far more prevalent influx of want in strict check. A suitable tangent was hard to come up with so all he managed was: "I remember, when I still did birthdays, unless I had something specific in mind, I would ask what the person would want to receive. Even if I had something picked out I would double check. Ruining a surprise is better than getting someone something they have no use for. It's embarrassing, as well, for both parties."

"Yeah," Arthur said, sarcasm dripping off the word although it was not without affection. "You've really stumbled on to something there."

"Just saying," Eames shrugged, breaking in front of the next bank, turning in. "I guess I do the same in the case of relationships as well. Here's our next stop." He nodded towards the ATM, leaning back in his seat to wait.

Arthur was saved from answering by opening the door and stepping out again. And Eames wasn't expecting an answer, not really, so he was surprised by Arthur's next question as he took a seat again: "And how has that worked out for you?"

"Hits and misses, once it wasn't something I or they wanted, it was over. It's something I can respect at least, instead of an inane dance around some uncertain will or won't." Hopefully that was vague enough. He pulled back on to the road, giving it his attention for the time being.

"How are the repairs to Rook going?" Arthur asked after a moment.

"Ah, slowly. It's hard enough to fix a minor hull breach well enough so it doesn't go again, in this case it needs a total overhaul - might as well get a new hull. At least the engine and thrusters weren't damaged, I might as well have gotten a new ship at that rate. I hope that Tamara's using vacuum as a sealant - there's nothing better than that fusion, but it's understandable if it's just too bloody difficult. It'll probably be another week or two," he sighed, shaking his head. "Rivaling Black Rock by the amount of time I stayed in one place at a time for the past couple of years."

Arthur laughed. "You'll have plenty of time to see plays. And if your father gets to be too much, I'm sure Ariadne would love to have you over," he teased. "At least the food is better here."

Eames scowled good-naturedly, sparing a glance to Arthur. At least that had blown over. Maybe in a couple of months he would be able to joke about how much of a bad idea their relationship had been. "To see several plays I'd have to travel out of town. And the amount of people who would love to have me over is always threatening to break out of it's holding but I like to keep a mysterious profile, only showing up at odd hours. But I will give you that the food is better."

"You'll travel across the 'Verse for five years, but not an hour or so to another city?" Arthur asked raising a brow. "And is that why you can't manage to wave first, your mysterious profile?" he added slyly.

"That's different. Planets are different from one to another. Cities are the same - bigger or smaller versions of each other and you have to be home in time for dinner. Taking off world removes you from that responsibility. And I didn't wave the first time because I was heading out anyway and the second because I'm a forgetful drunk. Less mysterious than annoying." Eames rolled his eyes. He really should remember next time. "What about you, is waving in the middle of the night to prove a point also customary on Ariel?"

Arthur went quiet, fidgeting. "Is that the bank?"

"Nope, that's a storage facility. I told you the third one is on the other side of town." Eames paused a little, considering the abrupt change in topic. "Arthur, are you embarrassed?" He leaned forward on the wheel, incredulous. "Come now, you should of all people know that the insomniac club welcomes calls at all hours of the day. Especially from you."

"There were other things I should have been doing, and you were asleep. It was a stupid call to make," Arthur insisted, refusing to look at him.

"Sure, it was illogical but so? Not to mention I wasn't sleeping. And I didn't mind." Eames frowned for a second, returning his eyes to the road. "You could also be doing other things rather than helping me clean out a room and going to a play. Should I drop you off at the inn after we're done here in that case?"

"Maybe."

Eames sighed but stayed quiet until they finally pulled up to the third bank, concentrating on driving and not the fact that Arthur all but agreed to the fact that Eames wasn't even on the list of priorities. Why were they doing this then? Besides the fact that he wanted to and Arthur at least gave the impression of wanting the same. He stayed silent as Arthur got out to deposit the last of the money, putting his chin on the wheel, looking forward. It had been Eames' idea with the loft but the play had been Arthur's. "Where to?" he asked instead, leaning back against the seat again.

"Your house," Arthur answered as he got back in and stowed the rest of the cash in his wallet.

Eames couldn't help but relax although he suspected Arthur only decided on this route because he still felt he owed Eames something. "Have you ever been to a beach?" he started. At least it would be something to talk about.

"Yeah," Arthur said, some humor returning, "I wasn't born in an office. I haven't been to one in years, but yes, Eames. Even the Core planets have beaches."

"It's not that hard to imagine. And I don't typically look into the tourist attractions if I go to the Core," Eames sniffed. "Beaumonde has a good ocean but most other places are dry thicket and dirt rather than sand. But there's a beach an hour and a half south of here, if you want to go sometime. It quite nice even though there's a bit of hiking involved."

"I don't exactly have any beach wear." Arthur pointed out. "The beaches on Ariel are nice, the private ones. The main beaches are too touristy."

"It's not warm enough to swim yet and so there won't be any tourists, either. It's far enough away from Yartis and Dell to not be crowded, although all bets are off a month or so from now." At least Eames had learned that in the more well off areas people swam in specialized clothing. If he ever found a cultural difference it was that - on Hera it was just the usual cotton underwear or nothing at all, especially in the woodsier rivers. Not... that they were going swimming. "It is an invitation, by the way," he clarified, just in case. His only answer was a noncommittal humm.

"Well don't get too excited," Eames sighed but dropped it. If they had time, maybe, but he'd leave it up to Arthur to decide. Day two and he was already back in the habit of seeing Arthur in the passenger's seat, even if Arthur was looking out the window like his life depended on it. It was too late to try for distance, he realized, though that would sort itself out on its own for certain. "Are we still going to the play at least?"

"Look, you just said it was illogical. I agree. Just take me back to the inn after this."

"Illogical isn't a bad thing, Arthur, for godsakes." Eames pulled into the right lane so he can go a little slower and spare more attention to the back of Arthur's head, tone incredulous. "Nor does it change the fact that I want to got to the theater with you and the beach and wherever else you might like to if you'd have me. I don't understand why you have your knickers in a twist because I was trying to make you feel better about calling me in the middle of the night when I wasn't even sleeping. Frankly, I'd thought it would be the opposite, that you'd be unwilling to spend time with me, because that would be logical, but somehow you're not and that makes me happy. In that case, illogical is a good thing."

Arthur turned his head, an unsure frown dominating his features. He opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. "I want to go to the theater," he said contritely, "with you, because spending time with you... also makes me happy."

"Okay, see, there we go," Eames concluded, waving his hand, the beginnings of annoyance still clinging to him. But instead of shaking the feeling off he let it persist, because he didn't quite know what to do with Arthur's agreement. "It's not that gorram hard," he muttered instead, turning on to the road to his house. He knew his own feelings on the matter and if he disclosed all his motivations and reasons behind why it made him happy... It all probably just gave Arthur something to do. But he'd added on that he wanted to go with Eames specifically. No, he was going to keep on fuming until they turned into the driveway. "I would have mistaken you for a Vulcan, the way 'illogical' got you bent out of shape."

"Really fucking original, Eames." Arthur sniped, wounded, getting brusquely out of the transport as soon as it stopped and immediately headed towards the door of the house.

"Yeah, well, I don't understand what you're getting at," Eames called after. "You like spending time with me, it makes you supposedly happy yet you chase me away every opportunity you get. Either there's nothing between us or there's no we or this is all _dumb_ , implying that I'm not even on the list of priorities in your busy life. My only response is defensive humor, I really can't help it." All of this because of a stupid wave about cats. Cats. Eames chuckled darkly before sobering a little. Continuing this argument in the house would only be conducive to worsening it. He lagged several steps behind, stopping whenever Arthur did, thumbs tucked in his belt loops.

"Things that make me happy have a tendency to blow up in my face, forgive me for not having the energy to pursue them. Forgive me for the fact that my entire life is still in fucking shambles and that our _friendship_ is not my highest fucking priority. You didn't call or say anything to me for a week, and I didn't get pissed off because I understood you had shit to do." Arthur responded, "So go ahead and call me a fucking Vulcan or a robot or whatever the hell else you want because I don't live my life constantly putting my heart on the floor like it makes me a better person."

The door was unlocked and Arthur pushed it in as Eames followed. "I didn't call you a robot, you know, I'm perfectly aware of the fact that you have feelings, too, so if anyone else used a particular pop culture reference to call you emotionless, this is not the case." He paused, trying to think of something else to say. "Are you really so upset that I didn't wave immediately after we parted ways?" He couldn't even begin to address the rest. "I thought you would be glad for the distance at the very least. And I'm not asking to be the most important thing in your life but you need a break from doing all that constructive stuff you like to do." If he removed personal feelings from the equation it might help at least somewhat.

"No," Arthur said, annoyed, turning to face him in the kitchen,"I just told you I wasn't. And in case you forgot, you were the one avoiding me back aboard Rook, so no, I wasn't glad you weren't speaking to me. I wasn't upset, but I wasn't happy either. I respected the fact you still didn't want to talk, so how the hell do you know I need a break? Because until last night I hadn't done anything."

"Yeah, you weren't pissed off, that doesn't narrow down the scope of emotions covered by upset and you wouldn't be mentioning it if you weren't. Calling goes both ways, Arthur." Eames paused for a little, rubbing his eyes. "And I don't know if you need a break, frankly I don't know anything because you seem to be enjoying yourself on one hand and then pushing me away on the other when I try to help. Being friends comes with a certain amount of trust as well - I would tell you if I was annoyed by the wave or if it inconvenienced me and you would trust I was telling the truth. Instead, we're having an argument that has risen out of something silly and completely not worth it." Eames sighed, leaning his hip on the counter.

"Me stepping back is not pushing you away, Christ. You want to know why I'm so upset about that wave? Because I fucking missed you. I missed you when you didn't call, I missed you after spending the entire day with you! I waved you about gorram cats! I get that it didn't bother you, but that doesn't--" Arthur cut himself off, turning to face the sink and avoid eye contact. "Where's the loft?"

"Missed me?" Eames tried tentatively. It was all terribly confusing, and he was still afraid to even wish because it all tended to turn south so quickly... He took the three steps forward, resting his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I missed you, too, I told you that." Arthur relaxed under his touch instead of pulling away. They'd take it at Arthur's pace then. "Just, next time, don't hang up, would you? The loft's this way." He stepped around turning left through the living room and neared the ladder propped between the doors of the two bedrooms. "It's dusty and cluttered with random things that are either broken or unneeded. I thought to get those down and scrub down the floors and windows."

"Sounds good," Arthur said, following then adding, "How's your shoulder?"

"It's alright, pull ups are a bit painful and it tires quickly, but otherwise it's pretty alright." Eames climbed the ladder first, standing up on the floor and looking down. "There's not much to bring down here so I guess I'll just start passing you the boxes." Eames grabbed one, already sneezing with dust. "Careful, though, they're dusty."

"Noted," Arthur stated. "Are there bottles in here?" he asked as he accepted a rattling box.

"Maybe? You can look if you'd like, although they might be canning jars. If it was anything useful, it wouldn't be up here." Eames looked down, half waiting for Arthur to open it. It certainly couldn't be food - too light and all things edible and drinkable were kept in the pantry in the kitchen. He shifted another box over towards the edge, waiting for Arthur to satisfy his curiosity.

"Canning jars?" Arthur asked, sparing a glance at Eames before flipping the box open and finding empty jars. He pulled one out and inspected it and Eames smiled. Apparently Arthur had never seen canning jars. "You do this stuff yourselves?" He set the glassware back in its slot and gently moved the box aside before reaching upward for the next one.

"Not really, given they're up where no one wants them." Eames carefully handed over the next box, dusting his hands off pointlessly once it was done. "Mom was big on it when she had the extra time, Dad and I never really bothered when you can get everything fresh or canned at the market. It's probably cheaper to do it yourself but." He shrugged even though Arthur couldn't see and hoisted up the next box.

"What did your mother do?" Arthur asked, accepting the next box as well.

"Seamstress. With a lot of hobbies." Eames gave a loud breath to clear his nose, climbing down the stairs. "That's it for the boxes, but we need a bucket of water, some mops and a stick. It's dusty as hell up there are I'm not even going to mention the spiderwebs." He ran a hand through his hair, hoping there were no spiders in it, already heading towards the kitchen.

Arthur followed, moving to help gather supplies. "What about a broom?" Arthur asked. "And a seamstress, gardener and someone who cans their own goods. You mother sounds talented. What else did she do?"

"That's what we put the mops on," Eames stated, fetching two out of their closet. "Well, not so much mops as rags with a hole in them, forgive our low tech cleaning supplies. And uhm... I think that's it, if you categorize knitting and crochet under things that a seamstress would do. I'm afraid I didn't have that much interest in the things she did, so I don't know exactly - especially the difference between knitting and crocheting, I just heard her say it."

Arthur stared at the "brooms" probably wondering how on earth a stick with a smaller stick attached constituted a broom. He did a terrible job of not showing his shock and revulsion. "I assumed crochet was a form of knitting, but I can't say it's something I ever put thought to. Do you have the bucket?"

"Oi, don't give me that face. It's perfectly usable and it has bristles so it's a broom and a mop, two in one. Here," Eames handed over the one he was holding to Arthur, as well as the short stick, picking up the bucket and grabbing a dust pan while he was at it. "You can go up with those, I'll hand you the bucket once you're up there. I'd prefer to use wet straw, but we don't have any so water it is." He wondered what Arthur's reaction would be to something even more spartan than this or lack of indoor plumbing. That would probably be a hoot.

Arthur gave Eames a flat look but climbed up the ladder before leaning down to help Eames with the bucket of water. They cleaned and discussed spiders, intermittently sneezing from the dust. But the loft was clean soon enough, now all that was left were the boxes.

They had another hour or so to dally until dinner, when his father would come home, so maybe a bit of speed wouldn't hurt their cause. Eames quickly dusted off the boxes he could reach before popping open the closest one. "I have a feeling this is going in the garbage or a yard sale, depending on how much effort I want to put in," he sighed, thumbing the balls of yarn.

Arthur regarded the boxes thoughtfully. "Are they all your mother's things?" He picked up the slightly damp rag and started wiping down the next one.

"Probably." Eames tilted his head, unconsciously leaning slightly in Arthur's direction, still looking at the box. "Everything else has a use. I'd have figured Dad got rid of all of this already." He cleared his throat once, then again, before considering leaving. Whatever was going on between them now didn't need to be exacerbated by his sudden despondence. "I would have, anyway, other people might need this."

Arthur paused, letting the washcloth sit, and very gently, very hesitantly, rested his hand on Eames'. "Maybe it was too hard to let go," he said simply, voice soft and careful.

"Maybe. But all her clothes are gone, her friends helped clean out her things. This must have been... Stuff she wanted to use in the future. And it has been up here since." He was careful not to move or turn his hand, letting Arthur's stay there, grounding. In a minute he would be alright but for now he would just stare at the texture of the cardboard, splitting his attention between the feel of it and the warmth of Arthur's hand. "Shit, no, I'm okay," Eames stated abruptly and shook his head, pulling away. "I'll call them to take care of this," he said with finality, closing the box and taking a couple of steps away before turning back to Arthur. "What do you think about an early dinner?"

Arthur stepped aside easily, allowing Eames to take back as much space as he needed. "Fine by me," he agreed, "do you want my help, or do you want me to finish the boxes?"

"No, those can wait, I'll get someone else to do it, just leave them, come on." Eames motioned Arthur towards the kitchen, walking there himself and opening the fridge to look into it. There was plenty of food but none of it was really resolving into anything he'd like to make. He cast a glance back at Arthur. "I'd like to skip out before my dad gets back so it's probably better to start now. What would you like?"

Arthur joined him without pause, stepping into the kitchen and peering into the fridge as well. "Chicken?" he suggested.

"Chicken it is," Eames agreed, drawing the defrosted piece out of the refrigerator and onto the counter, taking out peppers, cheese and leftover buckwheat from nights before. The tomatoes were already on the counter. It was only a pity that the need to hold Arthur hadn't dissipated but he wasn't about to let his instability ruin anything else. "Mind helping me out again?" he asked, offering Arthur the handle of a knife, setting two cutting boards on the counter so they would be shoulder to shoulder. "It'll be quicker."

"Of course," Arthur said, and simply to keep the topic light, "maybe you could teach me how to cook."

"Alright, well, it's not difficult. Just cut up everything into even, same size bits, like these," Eames started on the chicken, letting them bump shoulders slightly as he cut. "Then we put it all in the pan and fry it, the buckwheat is more of a side. I don't think cooking is really difficult by itself, it's more how many recipes you know and experience. The rest is just following directions."

Arthur washed his hands and rolled his sleeves even further back before he mirrored Eames, neatly slicing through the peppers in measured stokes and was done in no time. "So, where is your father?"

"Working. Business won't run itself, after all, and he has a couple of helpers. One of them picked him up this morning, probably, since I have the transport." Eames dumped everything into a large pan and let the whole thing heat and simmer, heating up a smaller pan meanwhile. When that was ready he dumped the remaining buckwheat in the pan and covered it, letting it heat through. "It's a good thing he mostly orders people around. Want to make the salad?"

"Has he been doing any physio?" Arthur asked collecting what he needed for the salad, poking about for the salad bowl until Eames directed him to it.

"Nothing official since insurance doesn't cover it. It was a small miracle it covered the surgery and replacement costs in the first place, especially since I couldn't even help in that regard. Frankly, there are better surgeons and better practices, just not here and no one but me is going to babysit him on another planet. But even for that it's too late." Eames shook his head. "I heard he drove the hospital staff crazy though, especially about the food."

"You don't have other family that could help?" Arthur asked before frowning. "Will he be able to retire soon?"

"Good luck getting him to retire. He'll stoop low enough to get a wheelchair first. He's only 60, anyway and retirement age is 67 I think. And frankly, that's for the best." Eames sighed, stepping away from the stove and covering the chicken with a lid to simmer further. "I'm afraid what he'd be like if he actually retired and only had to deal with people on a voluntary basis. If he's unpleasant now, it would only get worse."

"What about disability? The government should help provide coverage for other costs, even a live in nurse to assist." Arthur said. "The nurse might even be able to help on the job, if he overexerted himself."

He could have laughed at the sudden reemergence of the Central World naivete but Eames just sighed, shaking his head. "Would be nice, yeah. But it wasn't an injury on the job and no one's going to give you a live in even then." Eames leaned slightly towards Arthur, putting a little bit of weight to that side, the unconscious habit still present even if he had shut down everything else. "Otherwise, it's nice to say what the government should and shouldn't do, but it's not going to change the reality. We're close to a real city so we at least have something - further out they have to depend on luck and good fortune because even if they can afford a doctor for some reason, it's going to be hell trying to get one."

"Wait," Arthur said, surprised, "you have to pay to see a doctor? And even if the injury occurred in the home, it should still be considered disability, it doesn't matter how you became disabled, just that you are, permanently or temporarily - is that what it's like out here?" Arthur sank down, absently resting some of his weight on Eames as well as he deflated.

"A good summary of what it's like, although I'd say Hera has it better than some. All the good doctors go to the Core - not surprising since the top schools are there a they get better pay as well. Getting a doctor is one thing I suppose, not impossible, but getting the medication is even worse. At least when there's an epidemic the Alliance comes through, or tries to at the very least, until some psychopath or other steals it all from under their noses." Eames shrugged, pulling his arm back so Arthur was pressed against his side, bracing his hand on the counter. "For just the one it's better if you have a ship or knows someone who has a ship. Neither and you have a fifty percent chance dying before you even hit puberty."

"我的上帝," Arthur exhaled. "I did wonder about what you'd taken. They weren't common drugs on the black markets, nothing that was commonly used to make illicit drugs. The other guys, all the medication they stole had a high market value, less when you adjust for inflation on Ariel, but I could not figure out why you would come up with this brilliant plan and not research into the more valuable, more lucrative medications."

Eames chuckled, settling a little bit further. "You mean why I stole several lifetimes' supply of flu and TB medicine? Well firstly, there's plenty of those lucrative ones to go around. The more valuable meds are for broken bones and wounds as well as adrenaline, sedatives and everything a field doctor might need not your regular old folk. Before I had even come up with the idea I was on St. Albans - damn cold place by the way, it snows almost constantly and the novelty wears off pretty quickly. They're real nice folk there and a really strong community but since they're mostly miners out in the mountains, catching either of those two is as simple as breathing. So I traded it all there, in exchange for their metalwork which, though common, is also pretty valuable. Traded that for silicone, that for cattle and so on and so forth, earned a pretty tidy sum. Pretty lucky job actually, it doesn't always work so well. But not everything is market value, I suppose."

"So. How did you do it? My working theory is that you knew someone, or got to know someone who let you in, you used the card to let yourself in the supply room while no one was around, loaded up the medicine in something that leaves the hospital regularly; garbage, broken equipment, I'm not sure, and then you walked out with it. Am I close?"

"I loaded them back into their container, actually and I didn't know anyone at the hospital. I just used the authority of someone who was ordered to do something by someone higher up. Technically, the whole loading bay could be brought up on charges because they saw me walk out with it, although they didn't know what it was exactly." Eames rolled his eyes, still wondering how they had even managed to trip an alarm that quickly into a heist.

"Were you in still in that duster?" Arthur asked, "Because if you were in uniform and had something that resembled a badge, then their jobs are fine. Unless they helped you load it, but despite recommendations, there are no functioning security cameras in the loading bay, and when I had them questions no admitted to seeing you. There's no evidence, and the union would have filed a lawsuit if the hospital attempted to fire them without there being charges pressed. Similar story with the cops, though there were paid suspensions. And the thing that tipped you off was the fact that someone was late on their inventory report and noticed when they had to stay late and finish it that day. The discrepancy was too large to be a miscount. And are you really that surprised? Considering you came in to report the theft yourself," Arthur sniped good-naturedly then took a breath. "What made you come up to me? There were other people in that office."

"Why you?" Eames paused, thinking back for a little bit. "Well, out of everyone in that office, you looked the most competent. Do you know how many times I've just been written off or conversely the officer just gaped at me like a fish out of water?" He chuckled at the memory. "It was funny, but not fun at all."

Arthur smirked at that, and then frowned. "Written off? After a spiel on information you shouldn't have? That's not incompetency, that's dereliction of duty." He scoffed and turned to face Eames, his nose brushing against Eames' cheek before he flushed and stepped aside, scratching at his neck.

Eames blinked, chasing the feeling of Arthur against his skin. When had they managed to move so close? "You can afford to be sloppy when what was taken wasn't irreplaceable and gone without a trace into the black," he shrugged as if he didn't want to barge into Arthur's space and press him close again and damn the consequences. "And well, you know how busy everyone always is, rushing around like there's crime happening right in the seat of their pants. It's hard to get in a hi, how you doing, not to mention any pertinent information." A sigh and Eames reined himself in, instead turning to check on their dinner. "Ah, it's ready." He took off the lid, letting the excess moisture drip into the sink and turned off the gas, grabbing a pair of plates.

Arthur immediately threw himself into setting up, stepping around Eames when need be but not drawing that close again. He sat, finally, but the only thing he said was thanks.

Eames laid out the two plates, returning to the stove to cover both pans with the lids again and setting the gas to low. "You're welcome," he nodded absently, sitting on the other side of the table behind his own plate and checking the time. "It's eighteen hundred, so we're running rather early. What do you think we should do with the time?"

"Depends on when you father gets back and how serious you were about avoiding him."

"Deadly serious," Eames said, eyebrows raised before taking a bite. "The day has been good and I'd rather not ruin it before it has a chance to continue. He'll be back around eighteen forty five, maybe earlier, depending on the workload."

"Better eat quickly," Arthur said, smiling slightly as he took another bite. "Weather reports say it won't rain, we could check out central square."

"Sounds good to me - they should have the illuminations up by now, it's dark enough already." How Arthur had hit upon the place where most couples went was beyond him but he wasn't going to mention it and he refused to let it make him feel uncomfortable. It was still a perfectly valid place to go see and it was on the way. "Walk or drive?" he asked conversationally - they had a few hours to spend so driving made little sense but he wasn't opposed to it either.

"Which is the better option?" Arthur asked

"Walking probably, we'll waste more time that way. And, hey, fresh air. It's at a premium in space and in cities so we might as well not let it just pass by." Eames shrugged, taking another bite of his dinner, already half listening for the opening of the door or the rumble of a transport.

"That's subjective," Arthur scoffed, amused, "fresher here than on Persephone, but at least in Ariel you could smell something other than... _farm_. But walking is fine. Better exercise."

"I'm sorry that cut grass offends you so," Eames shook his head laughing. "We're mostly surrounded by wheat fields, and they're still green although the rooftops are filled with all sorts of personal gardens - anyone who has the time has one. On Ariel you smell antiseptic and dust, I don't know about anything else." He gathered up his utensils, shaking his head. "I'd offer tea but."

"We can stop somewhere," Arthur suggested. He dropped the dishes in the sink and headed back to the table to collect the rest.

Eames turned on the tap water as Arthur fetched the rest of the dishes. "I suppose we can window shop on our way there, if it slows us down any I'm not really against it. There are plenty of storefronts, mostly clothes and seam-shops though, as well as cafes, but I'm full." If anything, they could just admire the architecture of the place. "And you get to see first hand how easy it is to get lost here."

Arthur put up the napkins, and offered Eames a small shrug. "I doubt I'll end up lost."

"Say that when you see the maze," Eames laughed. "Might not even need to waste time, if we get far enough into the little alleys and dead ends. It's probably more fun on foot, since not all of the streets can even fit a car or transport." He handed the dishes of one by one to dry as he washed them, getting done just a little bit faster with two plates instead of three, and they didn't need to wash the pan. "Looks like we made it," he grinned as he shut off the tap, wiping his hands.

"Do we need anything?" Arthur asked as he put up the clean dishware.

"Unless it rains out of the blue we shouldn't," Eames echoed, patting his pocket to double check that he still had his wallet. It was already getting dark, but it wouldn't keep \\\for long, Georgia due to rise any minute. Pausing for a little he waited for Arthur to catch up, continuing to walk once they were shoulder to shoulder. "It seems simple unless you're trying to get somewhere you're unfamiliar with," he continued, "and if I were to explain how to get to the center of town from here, you'd likely find yourself turned around at least once."

"Turned around, I'll grant you," Arthur conceded, "but it would have more to do with your inability to give thorough instructions than my ability to follow them," he added with a grin.

It looked like they were in for another enjoyable evening after all.


	13. Chapter 13

"Are you getting sick?" Eames asked, ducking slightly ahead, after Arthur sneezed again. "Do we need to stop for drinks before you really start on it?"

Arthur gave him a skeptical look: drinks? Short-term relief at best, and if they were going to do that Arthur would rather stop for whatever over the counter cold remedy was available. Less fun, but more cost effective. "I'm fine," he said instead. "I'm sure it's just a cold." He'd had a very mild on and off headache, but that was the worst of it. "But really, that's the pretext to invite me for a drink?" Not that a few drinks sounded bad, but he'd rather do that when he didn't have somewhere to be, or sights to see.

"Well, if it wasn't just a cold, then it would be cause for concern." Eames shrugged, smiling. "But do I need a pretext? Maybe I do, since the last couple of times, 'just' drinks ended in some very strange manners."

Arthur cycled through the number of times he'd had drinks with Eames, that first night an embarrassing beacon, but the others were less so and, considering his actions while sober, drunk stripping and kissing wasn't much. "There were extenuating circumstances," he defended as they walked. Wrought iron street lamps glowed softly as they guided the way. "Maybe afterward, if there are places still open."

"If you say so," Eames grinned as he guided them through the streets and soon they were meeting passerby also meandering on the winding sidewalks. 

Couples, the people they passed were almost exclusively couples. People hanging off each other, laughing animatedly, ducking into cafes and restaurants. Arthur felt a little discomforted but if Eames had agreed this wasn't something only romantic partners did. He would have said something, made a joke that probably would have offended Arthur and they'd have driven instead. Arthur did his best to ignore the sidewalks filling. 

"It was one night, I'd had very little sleep and I only kept drinking to make sure you kept drinking," he continued to defend.

"Well, sure, but _I_ had to cut you off and the second time around you still seemed bent on overestimating yourself. Poor Isaac had to haul you off the ground," Eames said amiably.

Arthur tensed, but there was nothing malicious in what Eames said or the way he said it. Something Arthur was very slowing growing used to. He was used to his mistakes and missteps being tools against him, being shouted in his face or brought up to tear him down. But Eames never did that. He embraced the mistakes, made them harmless and Arthur had to suppress a swell of gratitude that Eames was just so _Eames_. "Also extenuating circumstances. I was stuck with Isaac, I needed several stiff drinks to cope," he said, returning the banter and letting his muscles relax. He couldn't stop his grin from turning fond. "I still blame you for that hangover."

"Blame me? After I babysat you the whole rest of the evening while you spewed nonsense and made sure you didn't throw up?" Eames feigned offense. "Some gratitude," he sniffed dramatically, "and if over five shots is considered several stiff drinks, I'm afraid to know what you would do trying to get shitface drunk. Pull a stunt with a bucket again?"

"How much longer was I even conscious? Watching me shouldn't have been that hard," Arthur retorted with mock exasperation,"and I watched over you before that, so stuff it. And a bucket of alcohol is just the amount I need to deal with _you_." There were extenuating circumstances there too, but Arthur really wasn't in a mood to deal with them, so he kept it light and didn't offer an explanation. "At least I don't go off and drive after I've had too much," he added to focus the conversation on the present. Eames had probably been a little buzzed but no more than that, or Arthur would be chewing him out not teasing him.

"A good while, enough to tell me all about how much of a pig farmer I am and hey, if you thought I had too much, you didn't have to get in the transport or you could have asked to drive or stole the keys and just had me direct you, if it was that much of an issue," Eames laughed, game for getting picked on.

"We've already discussed your inability to give decent instructions," Arthur taunted, and then heavily sarcastic, "and oh yes, being called a pig farmer. I can see what a hardship I put you through. I'm surprised you even forgave me for that one." Their hands brushed as they walked and Arthur quickly tucked his hands in his pockets, embarrassed at being far more highly aware of the sensation than he should have been.

"Well, you wouldn't get lost if I'm directing you from the other seat," Eames laughed, shouldering Arthur a little so they turned left once more. "But yes, pigs are horrible, nasty creatures, I really had to remember every bit of good you were to me in order to find forgiveness in my heart for it."

Arthur laughed, "Smuggling those pigs really left an impression. I bet if you'd actually done some research, or spoke to someone who does raise them, you wouldn't have had such a hard time." If he'd been planning to transport live animals, he probably would have hired someone, or at least consulted someone to refit his ship. It seemed like they were getting closer, if crowd density were something to judge by. Arthur had to step into Eames' space more than once to avoid strangers, and he had to pull his hands back out of his pockets for the sake of better balance and maneuverability.

"I did research, Mr. That's-All-I-Ever-Do-Is-Research, it was more a problem of them getting out of their cage. As much as ham is a perfectly delicious meat, I'd rather not have it cooked inter-engine or by thruster." Eames fell behind slightly so they took up less space on the sidewalk, directing Arthur by touches to his shoulder blades.

"What type of cage did you use?" Arthur challenged, now determined to see if he could dig up something later and find a solution that Eames hadn't. He followed Eames' direction, since Eames apparently didn't want to interrupt himself to actually say left or right, but the light contact didn't bother him enough to say something about Eames' methods. They worked, after all and the square they came to must have been the central one. There were more intricately designed lamps, a large ornate fountain. Voices carried indistinct conversations over the roar of water, and there was a noticeable lack of vehicles. It was cozy, the entire atmosphere warm and pleasantly unhurried. People stopped and pointed through windows, others sipped their drinks from small outdoor tables and terraces, cafes stacked on cafes. 

There were stringed lights tangled in rooflines and in decorative railing, wrapped around lanterns and windows. Arthur looked at Eames. "Is this normal?" he asked, interrupting Eames detailing the model of the pig enclosure. Had they come during some event? A holiday? Or was it just the people of Dell taking advantage of the little darkness they had.

"Yeah, it's common, unless the weather's bad. At least not as crowded as the weekends. We can spend some time here, wandering or sitting around if you'd like," he said, falling back into step. "The theater is still a bit of a walk but we have another hour and a half."

"We can keep walking," Arthur said. "How far is the theater?"

"We're about half way there."

Towards it was, and if they arrived a little early Arthur didn't consider it a problem. "This way to the auditorium, yeah?" Arthur checked and started walking in the direction he felt was right. There weren't a lot of signs, but Arthur was relatively certain it was this general direction.

"Close - that's a dead end, but the right direction. It's that way," Eames pointed slightly to the right, the street seeming to curve the complete other direction not to mention narrow.

Arthur frowned. That made no sense-- and then he sighed. He had been warned. But he started in that direction, neatly maneuvering through the crowd that began to dissipate as they left the square. He led the way down the narrowed sidewalk, glancing behind him to ensure it was Eames at his heels and not someone else. "I'd like to have a word with your city planner," he griped, and returned his gaze forward.

"There was no planning involved, the town mostly built itself. The only real planning that went into Hera was the fields, and the capital, all the rest was just allotted and given whatever resources it needed." Eames walked leisurely behind, looking around and drawing shoulder to shoulder again as soon as he was able. "Weren't you paying attention in the museum?"

Arthur tried not to flush, but he could feel heat rising to his ears. He'd been paying attention in the museum, just not to the displays. Well, some of the displays, but his attention had been on Eames. On what he was saying, what he was looking at, whether he still felt the same about Arthur, or if he had moved on, if asking him to coffee was mistake, if trying to ask someone else about how to show his interest would blow up in his face. "It mentioned the formation of public offices, town hall, I don't remember a list of those positions being up anywhere." But he was eager to get attention off himself, "You were raised here, you should know." He paused in thought, "If your parents grew up here, how did you end up being born on a ship?"

"Work doesn't wait," Eames shrugged. "Right after my parents married there was a two year expedition for ore toward the outer reaches of the system. My dad obviously decided he was need there to help his father, my grandfather, as opposed to at home. My mother decided to go with him. During that time she got pregnant and had me but the mission was cut short half a year early. All I know is that by the end they had ended up too close to Reaver territory. Some ships were destroyed, the rest returned home. My grandfather didn't make the return trip but I can't say why, I never asked."

Arthur swallowed tightly at the mention of Reavers, but forced himself to keep walking. "Did your father make a lot of trips out then?" he asked, hoping to whatever deity was listening that Reavers wouldn't be brought up again. Researching them had been difficult enough, he wasn't ready to talk about them. He needed to brace himself for it, know what he was getting into. As long as the conversation could be moved along, Arthur was fine.

Eames put a palm carefully on Arthur's shoulder. "Not really, or not that long. Otherwise short trips to the Core or Kalidasa as well as elsewhere in the system were pretty common."

The contact was unexpected and Arthur stopped, verbally at least, and frowned at Eames, his gaze shifting from Eames' face to his hand. He felt... guilty, and tried to remove the hand as delicately as possible. Arthur didn't need the physical comfort, but he liked it anyway. The light pressure, the warmth. He wasn't upset with Eames for doing it, how could he be, and he lingered before actually releasing Eames' hand.

"I guess your mom stayed home once you were born," he said instead of acknowledging anything else. He hated that he had to discourage touching, that he had such a hard time feeling completely comfortable with it, but between being in public and the reminder that he was being touched because he was stupidly upset... he just... it wasn't what he needed. Want didn't factor in. If Eames thought anything about the silent exchange, he didn't let it show, eyes far away.

"She stayed on Hera, yeah. My dad made trips within the system still but not that long or far." He sighed. "She had the option to travel with my dad, there were plenty of people willing to babysit, but she never took it."

Arthur didn't know what to say, so he opted for a moment of silence. He wasn't sure what he had expected in asking the question, he'd already pressed a sore spot earlier and he didn't enjoy the expression on Eames' face. Distant. Somber. It tightened something in his chest, made him feel uneasy and he didn't know how to fix it. Arthur wasn't one to break silences unless he needed something. He thought for a moment longer, slowing his pace. "What made you realize you didn't want to work for your father?" he ventured as a change in topic.

"Life happened. A whole slew of happenstances that put me on a different path. But who would actually want to work for a father like him? Maybe before, when he wasn't bitter, but sitting in one place isn't for me either. Neither is a boss or underlings - I don't like structure." Eames shrugged. "In after thought it's no wonder I didn't enjoy the army much, besides the death and destruction." He sighed and looked back to Arthur again before: "You know, darling, if I didn't know any better I would think you're planning on writing a biography on me," Eames chuckled, looking off and tucking his hands in his pockets. 

"You really think I'd collect all this information on you and sell it to just anyone?" Arthur raised a brow in mock seriousness. Then, because that may have come across slightly possessive, wanting to be the only one who knew Eames' history, "And who would want to read it? Poor subject choice. I would write Isaac's instead." 

"Obviously not just anyone, only the most discerning customers. As for Isaac's, you don't even have to write it, just cut together an audio book instead. Save both time and energy." Eames smiled.

"I don't know, the editing required to make his stories cohesive..." Arthur trailed off, "I'd rather listen to him once while writing down the salient parts to refer to later than listen to his retellings over and over." Perhaps he was being harsh, but it wasn't likely to be heard by Isaac. He paused. "I still can't believe you thought I was going to sleep with him." Eames had already apologized. This should be something they could joke about. Maybe.

"Well, I can't say it was a logical reaction," Eames answered slowly. "But I'm fairly certain it's clear why it was such."

"Not your best moment," Arthur said. He turned reflective as Eames scowled at the pavement, considering what he was about to say. "I was jealous too," he admitted haltingly, feigning casualness. "When I came back from Morena's and Ariadne was... holding your face. Almost looked like you were kissing." His eyes flicked to their corners as he tried to gauge Eames' reaction. His heart thudded in his chest, and his ears went hot. 

"Arthur," Eames started, then stopped, squinted and went on: "is this a date?"

Arthur froze. Stock still, unable to form words. There was a defensive 'no' stuck somewhere in his throat, because he was scared and caught off guard and they were in the middle of a busy sidewalk for Christ's sake. He couldn't say it was a date, but he didn't want to say it wasn't, and he'd never been more sorry about opening his mouth.

"I-" he floundered, drowning.

"It doesn't have to be," Eames said, faltering only for a moment. "I'm all for just spending time with you and that being the end of the story. I'd just like to know so I can know if I can kiss you at the end or not."

A thousand little moments flash through his mind. A month's worth of smiles, and jokes, and touches and glances. And Arthur couldn't just let them go. Not when Eames had stood by him, and done everything, and made him feel again for the first time in a long time. And Arthur couldn't help that he glanced for other people, but what mattered was that he decided 'fuck them' for staring. He grabbed Eames, pulling him in close with fistfuls of shirt and he pressed his mouth to Eames, a little too hard, a little sloppy, because he was shaking.

He pulled back eventually, breathing heavily affected. "Sorry," he said. "Couldn't wait." And he swallowed nervously. Eames hands had settled on his hips and they're making a scene, but he found he didn't care even as Eames leans back in to nip at his lips once more, thankfully pulling back soon enough so Arthur doesn't reconsider.

"So all of this... You couldn't have just said something?"

"I did," Arthur insists, "I, well, I asked if you wanted coffee. That was me trying to-- start over. Do things the right way." And then he'd balked after he called Eames in the middle of the night, or what passed for night. Not his proudest moment, and one that scared him because of just how dependent he'd grown, but Eames has put up with so much of his shit that maybe it was fine. Maybe he can rely on someone else. "But I don't fucking care, if there was no other way we could have met, if it was everything we've gone through or nothing, I think- I think I'd do it again." And he could use a little assurance right now, as nice as the hands are around his waist - god he's missed that - some verbal confirmation would be good. "So, we're doing this?"

"Coffee, Arthur, really, was that what that was?" Eames said meanwhile, "I really think we're far past getting to know each other and as far as I'm concerned, there's no 'right' way." Eames exhaled softly, eyes fluttering closed for a second longer as he thought. "Look. Is this really what you want? Because I still want you, ardently, and I've given you everything I could think you might want but if you leave like that again..." He shook his head, looking down for a second. "Tell me yes or no and I'll trust you but be sure of it. And if you're not, I'll wait for you like I have been."

Arthur slowly unfurled his fingers from Eames shirt, the lightness in his chest turning to stone. If Eames felt the need to ask that question, and to include a reminder of how much he'd given, Arthur knew he'd been found lacking. It was more kindly worded then the metaphor about placing his heart on the floor for Arthur to trample, but the message was the same. And while Arthur trusted Eames not to hurt him, he didn't trust himself not to hurt Eames. The worst of it was going from thrilled and excited to this, deep, soul-crushing anguish. The former just made the latter that much _more_. 

"What? You want me to promise you forever? Eames..." Arthur said, trying not to turn hostile just because he was hurting, "I'm not that guy." He choked and tried to play it off by clearing his throat. "And you know what? I gave you a hell of a lot too, or do you still think I roll over for anybody that can help me out?" 

And Arthur knew Eames had every right to be hesitant, but those defense mechanisms were there for a reason. For several.

"Arthur." Eames sighed, hand moving from Arthur's sides to the small of his back, linking them there even as Arthur pulled back. "I don't want a forever. I know you gave a lot, why do you think I..." Another sigh and he tried again. "All I want is that before the next time you make your mind up that something isn't going right, please just talk to me first. Explain. Preferably calmly, although we both know that's hard. I'm just trying to spare myself that moment when you decide that this decision was actually spur of the moment, or somehow influenced by the fact that you have the beginnings of a cold, I don't know. I still don't know why you stepped away in the first place or what went so badly wrong. Is there a certain number of official dates that I need to know about?" he joked softly, bringing a hand up to Arthur's jaw.

Arthur settled instinctively, Eames was still holding him, and what he said made sense. And then he couldn't help but lean into the soft touch, resting his head against Eames' palm. "It's not because I have a cold," he quipped and then turned docile, "it's because... I realized just how much I missed... this. You. Us." He cast a wary survey, and though there were only a few people on the sidewalks, it was still far too many for Arthur to divulge one of the largest contributors to his decision. "I want you, and that never stopped. And I promise, if you give me time, I'll... I'll talk about issues. I want this to work, and I know I don't deserve you, or half the chances you've given me, but... I try not to make the same mistakes."

"Alright," Eames smiled, stroking his thumb across Arthur's cheek. "I'll hold you to that. But I've missed us, too, so badly I'm surprised you weren't sure of it. Don't ever say you don't deserve me - I'd have to live up to that and I'm not sure I could." He chuckled softly before ducking in for another kiss.

Arthur returned the smile, and when Eames' kissed him, he returned that too, much steadier than the one before. And he almost whined as Eames started to draw back.

"I'm glad we got it sorted out before my dad started griping about it, among the other things he complains about," Eames said as he took half a step back, motioning down the street. "We have a play to catch, I believe?"

As much as he would have liked to mention there was another showing tomorrow and a bed waiting for them, they really didn't need to rush things. So, he started for the theater and tucked his hands in his pockets to keep them off Eames. "He would have complained about us?" Arthur asked, not entirely sure what Eames meant. About them spending so much time together?

"Why you're staying some place else when I would want you to stay with me. You're not from here and you know I played Mercutio, he's already suspicious," Eames shrugged.

"Is it a well-kept secret?" Arthur asked because Eames hadn't hesitated to tell him that in school he'd been in a play. He left the first issue alone, not sure if moving into Eames' house so soon was a good idea. And there was still the question of where this was really going, did he leave with Kinsley? Did he stay with Eames? It wasn't that he regretted agreeing to this already, but he hated how all or nothing their relationship seemed to play out. The conversation was too big for the sidewalk so Arthur let it be, they'd need to talk, but more privately, and when they had more time.

"That you know any sort of detail about my life would be surprising to anyone who knows me. That is, that you know and we're not together. It would have made for awkward conversation." 

Arthur studied him thoughtfully. The admission surprised him, Eames had always seemed open and honest. "That's something I wouldn't have guessed," he said, barely containing the urge to press. Why was it so strange for someone to know the details of Eames life? Why had Arthur been given so much insight so quickly? 

"Well of course you wouldn't have guessed. Somehow, between the both of us, we share more history with each other than others. I have plenty of stories about travel and ships to take up most idle talk time but since we started with the army, nothing I can think of is worse than that story." Eames shrugged again.

Arthur shot him a flat look. "So after all that talk about me needing to express what happened, you don't speak freely about yourself either." But Arthur wasn't more than slightly annoyed by the revelation. Eames had never said that he spoke about it to others, he'd only Arthur make the assumption. Not that Arthur blamed him for not speaking about it, god knew he never would have. 

"I have because I was forced to and these said others I was dating at the time," Eames laughed. "So you can see why the fact that you know anything past the basics is suspicious." A shrug and he slowed a little, checking the time. "Looks like we're here early," he nodded to the theater a little bit further down the road.

There was a small well of jealousy, hollowed, but still present at the thought of Eames with other people. "Think we can take our seats early?" Arthur asked, ignoring the surge, as they approached the building. They'd probably be the only ones if Eames was right about the turn out. Maybe a few parents. Which almost made Arthur want to ask what Eames' parents had thought about his performance, but Eames senior's refusal to answer concerned Arthur. He didn't want to bring up painful memories. For all he knew, Eames' father had refused to go. 

"Probably," Eames nodded, pushing the door open to the anteroom. There were another dozen or so people there, one who looked like she was from the press but the others all looking like parents. The stage itself was still drawn. "Is it opening night?"

Arthur followed Eames inside, sweeping the room for a ticket counter. "Yeah. Where do we get the tickets?" There was a group huddled by a table that could have been it, the reported could have been equally likely to be the cause of the crowd.

"If they even have tickets, over there." Eames walked around the seats towards the table, their approach met with expectant smiles.

Arthur fished out his wallet as the teller listed off the price, "Two," Arthur said from behind Eames and stepped around him to pay. They were cheap tickets, and Arthur was used to footing the bill on dates. Because this was a date, and he was going to make that much clear.

Eames rolled his eyes but let Arthur pay, instead putting his arm across Arthur's lower back in retribution, chatting amicably with the other woman behind the table. It was still reflex to stiffen and seek out the source of contact, and it edged a little close to the fringes of his comfort zone as far as public displays went. Arthur accepted the tickets and the playbill awkwardly, noting the man handling the transaction was clearly staring at the brazen hand across his back, eyes flickering between their faces. Arthur slipped out of the hold, moving quickly toward the doors to get them seats.

The seats he ended up taking were towards the center, it wasn't a full house and most of the other early arrivals had cloistered at the front, pointing out names Arthur had no hope of recognizing. He regarded Eames worriedly, not sure if him rejecting the touch had been taken badly and he'd already created a problem with his need for boundaries. "Looks like friends and family," he said, a poor attempt at striking up a conversation.

"Nothing surprising there. Why do you sound so worried? If it's about the guy back there, I'm sure he just wasn't expecting it, might be wondering if we came to the right place since he hasn't seen us in PTCs. It serves you right with all your dated, chivalrous Core customs." Eames grinned and sat, bracing his elbows on the armrests, tapping the palm of his hands on the ends with a finality.

Arthur settled, smiling in relief. "What, because I paid for your ticket? How do you know I didn't do it to save time; one transaction takes less time and effort than two," he responded, speaking softly even though the lights were still on and the other conversations were far enough to be unbothered. He leaned in closer, flipping absently through the playbill to occupy himself.

"Because we could have paid together, also, I was first in line, so technically I could have paid for both of them." Eames raised his eyebrows, tilting his head so it hovered slightly over Arthur's shoulder, watching him flip through the pages. "But it's alright, it's adorable," he snickered.

"See if you still think it's adorable when I remind you that because I bought the tickets, you're paying for drinks," Arthur said and looked up from the program to give Eames his best grin. All traces of the earlier apprehension were gone, and Eames' giddiness was almost catching, certainly enough to distract Arthur from the conversation they still needed to have looming overhead. There were a few more arrivals, people loudly discussing what seats they wanted as it drew nearer to showtime.

"Fine by me," Eames shrugged. "You have a deal," he added as the lights dimmed, signaling for everyone to find their seats.

Arthur muffled a yawn, as the last of the audience hurried to heed the warning. Another few minutes and the curtains lifted to the first scene. Arthur had seen better sets, much better sets, and better costumes, but it was still very recognizable. But between the low lights, the too familiar to be engaging play, and the fact that Eames was there with him, his presence enough for Arthur to feel secure, Arthur slumped in his seat. Sleep had been elusive, even last night, and exhaustion took over now that he was relaxed enough not to resist it. His head lolled to the side, nearly resting on Eames' shoulder as the second act began.

Eventually Arthur startled awake, gripping the armrest until he pieced together where he was. He shifted and tried to ignore the mild embarrassment of having fallen asleep during a play, and being scared awake by memories of something that he'd wished stayed buried. He needed to figure something out, the amount of sleep he was getting was dangerously little.

He focused his attention on the stage. It wasn't difficult to figure out how much he'd missed - nearly all of it. All that was left was for Jack to discover he had inadvertently been telling the truth the past few years. Arthur cleared his throat softly, composing himself as subtly as he could as the last scene played out.

Eames smiled but looked away, as soon as he made sure Arthur up, probably. The play ended to excited applause from the parents as the cast came out for their final bow and the lights came on, equally enthusiastic and grateful, bowing once before they were joined by the crew.

"Morgan! Jae Hua!" Eames called amid the noise and a dark haired man lifted his head before looking surprised, then ecstatic, and waving back, miming for them to stay where they were.

Arthur glanced between the two, who obviously knew each other. Former classmates? Arthur could only guess, and rather than speculate he raised an eyebrow at Eames, trusting that he would see the question and fill in the blanks without Arthur needing to ask. 

"Uh," was the sheepish answer he received before Eames elaborated: "That's Jae Hua Sung, goes by Morgan, usually. He was a year younger than me in high school and we kept in touch after I graduated as well as during the war until I left. We, uh, dated a couple of years before the war but settling down was never for me- Darling!" Eames laughed, interrupting himself as he received a sudden hug. "Romeo has decided to continue his career after his initial stage fright? I thought you hated kids."

"Grow on you like the worst sort of fungus - not to mention these aren't quite kids anymore even if they like to act as such," Morgan stepped away, looking at Eames from arm's length, keeping his hands on Eames' shoulders. "And you're back on old stompin' grounds after half a decade? Probably with ten new tattoos, you terrible person you." Eames shrugged and rolled his eyes - it was an old argument apparently. "Miss me or is it this fine young gentleman that has your attention now? And here I thought you said you didn't want to settle down."

"Can you seriously imagine me on a porch, smoking a pipe and reading the newspaper?" Eames chuckled but turned slightly to introduce the two. "Morgan, Arthur, Arthur, Morgan."

Morgan turned to Arthur, smiling politely and offering up a hand. "I hope the performance was none too taxing?"

Arthur was - wrongfooted. To say the least. He could almost hear his own mind whirring and clicking as it stuttered on the fact that Eames had called this man darling, and just _lit up_ , trading jibes and history. It felt like Charlotte and Edgar, and it took everything inside Arthur to smile and accept the handshake. He tried to pretend the chagrin was only because he'd been caught asleep. Another contribution to the list of things that had Arthur painfully off balanced. 

The moment stretched as Arthur noted no ring, and that Eames hadn't confirmed they were anything to each other. Well. Arthur was leaving for a new life in a week, less than, he and Eames hadn't stood much of chance. He forced a smile. "Just friends," he told Morgan, because there were fights that couldn't be won, and if he surrendered now the collateral damage was contained. Eames could rekindle whatever spark was still there, Morgan was obviously interested if that lingering hand and that one of the first questions out of his mouth had been to determine if Eames was single. Arthur couldn't blame him for being hung up. "And I do apologize, it had nothing to do with the performance," he added, holding together through sheer determination. 

Eames deserved to be happy, and Arthur had caused him enough trouble. Didn't stop it from hurting like a bitch. Again. His life a never ending cycle of the same shit.

And Arthur still couldn't manage to find his balance. Not as Eames made the assertion it was date. Not as he insisted the touches stopped. Not as Eames took him by the elbow. It processed that Morgan was seeing someone, someone named Charles, but Arthur wasn't certain how monogamous that relationship was or how serious that foursome offer had been. Eames had smoothly suggested Morgan make for the parents and actors standing near the stage before Arthur could make a determination. 

He went quiet for a moment. "Sounds like you have a lot to catch up on," he ventured finally. It was difficult to dismantle the walls, ones that he erected very hastily, and frankly he wasn't certain he should be tearing them back down just yet.

"Hey, come on, don't do this to me." Eames shifted, standing in front and close, lifting a hand hesitantly to Arthur's face, voice going immediately from cheery to concerned. "It's barely been an hour and what are you going to do when that one shows up on your doorstep with brownies and gossip? Because it will happen, whether he know where you're staying or not. The only reason he didn't tag along for drinks is because no one wants to be third wheel, come on, Arthur, I told him, what is it that's wrong now? Should I not have?"

Arthur couldn't meet Eames' eyes and he couldn't pull away, so he stared upwards and away. "Will it be less painful if we wait a week?" he asked, brittle, "I-- We don't work. There's too much working against us - and how long is it going to be before you start to realize that even your exes are more affectionate than I am? I wasn't thinking when I agreed to this, that's my fault and I'm sorry." That was his problem. He couldn't think around Eames. Not when every fiber of his being wanted to give in and take what was on offer.

"No, shut up, come here," Eames almost growled. He grabbed Arthur's wrist, marching him through the ante room and up the stairs, the second level empty but still lit, talking as he went. "Don't say that, don't fucking say that, I asked you if you were sure and you damned well were so affection shouldn't feature into this, I'm affectionate enough for the both of us." He pushed, pressing them both up to a wall. "This is not about deserving or affection because we work and you know we do and I don't want you to play a happy puppy if it's not you - by my side is all I want and it doesn't even have to be physically but while we have this week you're not going to ruin it with your drama, alright?"

The confluence of thoughts and emotions simmered under his skin, warring for preeminence as Eames pressed his shoulders back into the paint. And Arthur was too stubborn to let the hurt and want have their way and seek comfort. "We don't! How many fights does it take? What? Because we spent one fucking month in each other's space out of desperation that makes us equipped for a relationship?" Showing how he really felt and taking the blame hadn't worked, but maybe if he pushed back hard enough, Eames wouldn't want him. He launched the last salvo of his offensive, blinking to stem rapidly forming tears. "We barely managed friends, and we only went further because I wanted to fuck someone." 

"Fight? Oh come on, really, like we're supposed to get on without a hitch just because you want it to be so. Arthur, I warned you that I would get attached, I warned you and you have me and you don't have to pity yourself just because you think I don't need you. We gave it a break and we've seen how that works - it doesn't - and lying now won't get you out of anything else you've said to me today." He pressed a hand to Arthur's face again, gentle but firm, leaning on the wall with the other. "You want to run just because you're insecure after you've seen a relic of the past - I won't let you, the past is past and that's the last thing you should be worried about. Morgan's affectionate, yes, but if you notice we're not together anymore so it's not a fucking stipulation. I asked you to talk to me - so talk and don't gorram lie."

Arthur flinched, back of his head and palms all hitting the wall. It was unfair how easily Eames saw through him, cut through him to the core. But he surged forward, mustering what confidence he had left to try and explain. "What good does talking do me if you've made up your own fucking answers and assume they're right because that's what you want?" he seethed."And it's not about Morgan! It's about the fact that you get attached and then you get bored or you find someone else to become attached to after knowing them for five fucking minutes, and when that day comes it's going to break me because I can't take anymore and I can't ask you to live with that kind of fucking pressure! Because I'm already too much fucking drama!" His body started to tremor despite how rigidly he tried to hold himself.

"I don't get bored! You ass, why do you do this to yourself, what have I done to put these sort of ideas in your head? If I got bored, you wouldn't hear even a whimper from me and I'm here, with you, no matter how your try to push me away and not only that, I'm trying to show you my past which you just seem to think is cakewalk - even though you hadn't even informed me that these were dates at all, just as friends, I was still fucking trying..." He took a breath, closing his arms around Arthur's ribs this time, no doubt feeling the tremors run through him but pressing him close regardless. "I'm not going to get bored," he asserted one more time, lowering his voice. "You're not too much drama or too much of anything, or too little, you are, and that's all I want from you, for godsakes, I'm not going to leave and if I do, I'll always come back. But I can only prove it if you let me."

Arthur broke, choking back sobs until they were just jittery spasms, coughed out into Eames' neck and he leaned into the hold and closed his eyes. Because it never mattered what he said or did, Eames was still so fucking there; always. Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames, clinging to him as much as he was being clung to. "I'm sorry," he whispered into skin, his face still tucked away, "I'm sorry, you stupid, ridiculous bastard," he murmured. He didn't deserve him. Not even a little. But Eames wanted him, and Eames did deserve to get what he wanted. He held him tighter as he whispered a string of apologies between choked noises as he struggled to compose himself.

"Don't be sorry, unless it's for lying, in which case you're a piece of shit and I forgive you." Eames sighed and closed his eyes, resting a palm on the back of Arthur's head, gently stroking through hair. He pressed a kiss to Arthur's ear, one hand running across the length of Arthur's back softly.

Arthur barked out a laugh, settling in gradually until shame set in and he started to pull back. He rested against the wall, but without fighting the hold. Softly, he cleared his throat. "Eames... you scare me." He frowned, because that wasn't the right way to put it, "The way you make me feel scares me. I didn't - I still don't - know how to handle it, that... that was why I tried to end things, because that last night you could have done _anything_ to me, and I mean _anything_ , and I don't think I would have even tried to stop you - I haven't trusted anyone like that," and Eames probably had no idea what he meant, not the specifics, and Arthur looked away. They may not be ready for that kind of strange yet, and while he'd never precisely been ashamed, it wasn't easy to expose himself. He shifted anxiously, because it was something that needed to be discussed in case it happened again.

Eames stroked his thumb around Arthur's ear, as if tucking away a strand. "It scares you... But is it something you want? To trust me? For me to prove that I am trustworthy? I'm not forcing you to do anything you won't like, darling, so if that's what you're thinking, you're barking up the wrong tree."

Oxymoron. Arthur looked away and let out a steadying breath. "It's... Look. I - sometimes I need to," and he didn't know how to explain it without sounding like a freak, but if Arthur could push and shove and not get Eames to budge, this... this might as well have been nothing. "Sometimes I need to get out of my head for a while, sometimes I need someone else to-- to take charge. I used to go to this guy, and I would pay him to, uh, dominate me, and when you-- God. I just rolled over. It took months and there were rules and boundaries, a fucking contract, and for you, we didn't even have a safeword."

And he swallowed, waiting for a reaction to what he'd said. Ridicule. Disbelief. Disgust. Arthur shifted his weight and half hoped that Eames was familiar with enough of the terms to figure out what Arthur was getting at. The other part hoped that Eames didn't have a clue and Arthur could just wave it off and tell Eames not to worry about it. As good as it was, he didn't actually need it, and waiting for Eames response made him wish he'd remembered that sooner.

"Oh." Eames blinked at him, tucking his hands together at the small of Arthur's back. "You could have just said," he smiled, "By those standards - actually by the standards of even the previous time - that night was a fairly vanilla one, although I guess I didn't exactly give you advanced warning. Shoulder and all it was a difficult day for athleticism." He tilted his head, thinking. "If it would make you more comfortable, we can always discuss rules and boundaries, hell, put them on paper if it'll mean more."

Arthur laughed, a laugh of relieved nerves and almost giddiness. "You're so fucking obnoxiously," and he tugged Eames towards him to land a kiss as he swallowed the word _perfect_. He didn't apply too much pressure with his arms still wrapped around Eames' neck, resting lightly across his shoulders. "I'm not asking you to do that. I'm trying to say-- you get so close, so fast and I don't," he looked down, staring at their bodies still pressed together, "I don't know how to slow it down other than to shut you out. And I don't think you understand how vulnerable it makes me, and how much I _hate_ being vulnerable." And he didn't want to put blame on Eames, he didn't know, Arthur hadn't given him a chance to say no, and consent went both ways, but he'd needed reassurance that morning. Not ambivalence. He'd needed more touching not less. And it was more his fault, because he couldn't-- wouldn't articulate what he'd needed. "I don't need a contract with you-- I won't do it again," he decided. He didn't need it, and he didn't want to ask Eames to do something he wouldn't enjoy. Everything had just felt so beyond his control then, and giving in to Eames, letting go of himself for a while... he'd just needed an anchor. Needed to know that if he lost control, Eames could take over until he found it again.

"Even if it does, you don't have to worry," Eames reassured, pressing just that little bit closer. "You're not the only one who's vulnerable, you know. So please don't shut me out." He stole another kiss. "No paying strangers for sex though, if you want it, you have it, alright?" He grinned slightly and pushed, taking them the half a step back to press against the wall. "I don't share that well," he stated, stealing another kiss, deeper this time, hands on Arthur's sides.

Arthur smiled into the kiss, letting himself be pinned between the wall and the firm line of Eames' body. The fact that Eames was holding him, refusing to let Arthur ruin anything, gave Arthur the confidence he needed to kiss back and thread his fingers into Eames' hair. He pulled back for breath, "I don't either," he admitted between pants, "which is why we're not participating in a foursome," he growled. He could stake his claim now, Eames had decided where he'd rather be and Arthur was going to be sure to let Eames know he was just as wanted. "Skip the drinks and go back to mine?" he asked as he shifted to work on Eames' jawline. The inn might have been further away, but it afforded them a lot more privacy than a house with Eames' father inside.

"Good god, he was joking. No foursomes, there are at least four people absolutely against it. But yeah," he managed, biting gently at Arthur's ear. "Do we have to stop by a pharmacy or do I have to decide between being impressed or jealous?"

"Pharmacy," Arthur answered, not entirely certain what would inspire jealousy or awe. Didn't change the fact they needed condoms. He mouthed at skin, tasting salt and Eames, before forcing himself to draw back. If he wasn't careful they might have to resort to handjobs in the nearest restroom. "And I can either fuck you or ride you, you better have it figured out by the time we get there." Arthur added voice low and guttural, still feeling possessive. God this was going to be a long walk back, Arthur wasn't even sure he could let go of Eames long enough for them to get off the wall.

"You really like me on my back, don't you?" Eames grinned, pulling back. "I know a shortcut," he all but breathed, taking one of Arthur's hands in his and lacing their fingers together, pulling to lead down the stairs.

Arthur nearly groaned in relief and hurried down the stairs. And he did like Eames on his back. Liked seeing his broad chest, inked skin and stupidly attractive face. But he wasn't opposed to having him turn over on hands and knees and fucking him that way. Or while laying on their sides. And Arthur forced himself to stop. To think about anything other than climbing into Eames' lap and riding him until Eames forgot every name but _Arthur_. 

"How short is this short cut?" Arthur asked, not entirely certain how he felt about their laced hands. It might make the sidewalk that much harder to navigate, but at the same time, Arthur didn't care. He liked that it was an inconvenience, that Eames wanted a point of contact enough that the sacrifice of practicality was worth it. Lust and affection blurred together and Arthur squeezed Eames' hand in his.

"Not shorter than a straight line, unfortunately. But it does make the inn closer than going back to the house, at least, and there's a pharmacy on the way." Eames was always a little bit ahead, leading the way, looking back sometimes even though their hands were still connected. "There's a gap between backyards that cut off a good portion of the triangle we'd have to take otherwise and though it's not exactly picturesque it gets the job done."

At this point, Arthur was relatively sure he'd have traversed across a dump if it got them to a private bed sooner. Peeling paint and drying laundry weren't even worth a mention, but the distraction was welcome. "I take it back. There's nothing wrong with your city planner," he said. Not if it got them to the inn faster. He kept pace, walking quickly over unfamiliar ground. Hopefully the pharmacy wouldn't be busy, they could get in, get out and he could finally have Eames in bed.

"I thought you'd come around. Hopefully we won't run into dogs or hooligans but otherwise..." There were no streetlamps in the alley and it was more narrow than the sidewalks but also empty but they didn't need streetlamps to see, anyway, since lights were on in the windows to either side. It spilled out into a yard that wasn't fenced before narrowing again and finally opening onto a familiar street: close but not quite there yet. "And here we have our pharmacy," Eames slowed, turning towards the lit, neon window.

Arthur recognized the building: he'd nicked a few medications there. It worried him, slightly, enough that had there been another reasonable option he would have taken it instead. But he dismissed the possibility of being caught as remote as he walked towards the entrance. Well. They didn't both need to go in to pick up condoms. "I'll wait out here, just get whatever." Eames didn't argue.

In retrospect, stealing that much medication had been stupid. He'd only need one bottle for an overdose but ended up stuffing all the nooks and crannied of his inn room with white bottles and if Eames found out... Arthur refused to think about it as he stood. Maybe Eames wouldn't find out. It had just been a moment's - a week's - weakness. He hadn't had any hope. It wasn't as if he went through with it.

"Took long enough," Arthur teased when Eames did emerge with a small plastic bag, "I was about to go in myself." It had probably felt longer than it had actually taken. Arthur would have been lying if he said he hadn't been feeling anxious. He started to walk away from the store, towards the inn now that he had a better sense of where he was. "What did you get?" He asked as he held out his hand for the bag, mostly out of curiosity. As long as they were condoms, it didn't matter.

"Thought to double check if they had any sleeping aids that Yusuf had recommended in stock. They didn't." Eames handed the bag over, they were just the normal sort, latex. Eames hooked their elbows to give Arthur use of his hands. "So you said you had problems sleeping, yet the store clerk was rather annoyed with me when I went to look in the sleep aid aisle, citing shoplifting of those specifically, many bottles. It's a very strange coincidence. What did you do with them if you weren't taking them?"

"That's making a lot of assumptions," Arthur said flatly, jaw clenched as his grip on the bag tightened. "What makes you think I stole them?" he demanded. If he could put Eames on the defensive, maybe that would be enough to get him to back off.

"Sleeping pills. You didn't go in. There's not that much of a crime problem around here - not to mention most people know one another. It's easier to just drop the pretense. I'd be the last person to accuse you of anything, I'm just wondering," Eames shrugged. "If it's a secret, it's a secret."

It still wasn't an attack, Eames was being casual and patient. He wasn't pushing or demanding. Arthur sagged, and rubbed a free hand over his face. "I got rid of them. I swear to God, Eames, they're gone," he said, hushed. He'd dumped them the night before, after Eames had driven him back to the inn.

There was a falter in Eames' hands but "Okay," was all he said, continuing to walk forward, pushing their hands together again.

Arthur felt taut. That one simple 'okay' and that was it. He'd scared Eames, or upset him, rendered him quiet and somehow muted. All because he'd almost taken his life. And he'd known that it would hurt Eames, but to see it played out across the man's face. Seeing what even the idea did to him... It was one more reason to hold on and weather this thing out. "I won't," he promised, "I swear to you, I won't. No-- no matter what."

"Alright. I trust you," Eames nodded, pausing for a second in his stride before they crossed the street to duck in for a kiss. "I'll probably still worry, but I trust you."

Arthur still wished Eames hadn't found out, that he didn't know how close Arthur had come. Admitting to thoughts was one thing, actually planning it out and going through the necessary steps to get there... He would have rather that stayed private. But Eames was a little more himself, stealing kisses, and Arthur let himself become swept up in the warmth and affection. "I know you will," Arthur said, smiling contritely, "that's why I didn't tell you." 

The inn wasn't far, Arthur could see it, and Arthur hoped that if there was more to be said on the subject it would wait until they were somewhere more private than the lobby.

Eames crooked a smile and shook his head, patting Arthur's jaw shortly with his free hand before resuming walking, pulling their hands along. "Well, come on then," he urged.

Arthur's confidence resurfaced, enough that he took the lead, hurrying the last stretch of pavement and urging Eames inside as he pulled open the door. He tried to head upstairs before-- and there was Florence, who seemed delighted to see Eames again and eager to catch up. Perfect.

"Guess who's back in town tomorrow, I'm sure she'd be overjoyed to see you again," she said, probably more excited that her daughter was coming back, but Arthur still felt a fresh wave of possessiveness wash over him. He was tempted to lift their joined hands and proceed upstairs as though she hadn't said a word, but he couldn't do that. Too rude, even for him.

Eames sighed heavily, shooting an apologetic look towards Arthur before putting a hand on Florence's shoulder, leading her into the kitchen, a stream of crossing ideas coming out of his mouth. Something about cats and soup and... Arthur was completely lost, but Eames was motioning at the stairs and Florence was suddenly preoccupied and Arthur at least knew how to take advantage of the situation. He took the stairs two at a time, glancing behind to make sure Eames was still following him up as he crossed the hall. The bag was looped around his wrist to allow him to dig through his pockets and find the key, which he was quick to jam in the lock. He was equally quick to push the door open, waiting for Eames to enter before closing and locking the door.

"Obfuscation works on old ladies very well," Eames laughed, sitting down on the bed before running a hand through his hair. "I knew it was coming, but at least she's not likely to come visit after hours and she should be well occupied till then." He extended his arms to Arthur smiling. "Will you come here or do I need to do a ritual first?"

Arthur grinned back, already moving towards the bed and tossing the bag onto the mattress before carefully leveraging himself onto it, knees coming to straddle Eames. He took a moment to relish in the height difference, cradling the curve of Eames' skull as he tilted his head back and aligned their mouths. "Know what you want?" Arthur murmured softly, always quick to the point.

"Option B, definitely," Eames said before coming back to the kiss, clarifying only after they broke, hand pressing Arthur into the crease of his lap, hands already working on liberating Arthur's shirt from his pants and belt. "Ride me."

The sudden heat wrenched a sharp gasp, because _fuck yes_. That was what Arthur had wanted so badly from the start, and Eames sounded so self-assured there wasn't a doubt in Arthur's mind it was something he'd wanted too. It was intoxicating, and Arthur rocked his hips into Eames as a fire spread under his skin. 

"--shit," Arthur breathed as it dawned on him, "Lube." _Fuck_. If he had actually gone inside and seen it beside the condoms, he knew he would have remembered it. He drew back slightly, "did you get some?"

"There's a bit in the case for some advertising reason but it's useful so I don't complain. What, you think I'd forget?" Eames grinned and started on buttons. "Less thinking, more shedding clothes, we don't actually have all night."

Any smart comment Arthur might have made under normal circumstances was forgotten in the face of sheer gratitude. He could make do and ride Eames dry, but he would much rather have the lubricant. Arthur returned to kissing, starting in on Eames' clothes before he had to stop and ease his shirt off. It fell to the floor in a soft heap and Arthur resumed his work on Eames shirt. "That mean I need to set an alarm before we fall asleep?" Arthur asked, slightly breathless. If they didn't have all night, and Eames had work in the morning, the chances were high.

"Yeah, later." Eames shrugged off his own shirt, concentrating on kissing and sucking constellations on Arthur's chest, hands roaming across skin.

Arthur closed his eyes helplessly, ignoring the nagging insecurity that he wasn't as toned and filled out as he usually kept himself. It wasn't difficult when Eames so obviously didn't mind. His fingers skimmed down Eames' sides before finding the front of his pants and undoing the fly and slipping his hand down, stroking him through the softer fabric of his underwear. 

Eames groaned, panting slightly into Arthur's collar, rocking forward before thankfully remembering he was supposed to be on his back. An annoyed sigh and he pulled at the clasp of Arthur's belt, getting rid of it quickly before moving on to the pants, pulling back slightly so he could see what he was doing.

"Fucking, gorram-- shoes," Arthur bit out as he moved off Eames to impatiently finish stripping himself. Shoes and socks finally off, he pulled down his pants and dropped them over the side. Eames had implied there was a rush, and Arthur was eager anyway. The condoms and lubricant still needed to be dealt with and Arthur reached for the bag, drawing out the box and hastily opening it while Eames undressed.

He smiled slyly as he tossed one of the condoms to Eames and drew out another for himself before he pulled out the sample-sized packet. He carefully put it out of Eames' reach and rolled on his condom.

"There's not actually a deadline," Eames commented, orienting himself so his back was towards the headboard. "Although I don't mean stay over there the whole time either."

"Don't worry," Arthur said as he snagged a pillow and set it under his hips, angling himself to give Eames a decent view and lying back with his head at the foot of the bed, propped up on his elbow. He felt for the packet, tearing it open and smearing some on his fingers and leaving the rest for Eames. A little maneuvering but he pressed his fingers against his own entrance working the cool gel into the muscle. 

His middle finger eased in first and Eames sat as if entranced, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip, eyes fixed on Arthur's hand and what looked like painfully hard. Arthur sucked in a breath as he carefully slid his index finger next before nearly withdrawing them and starting a rhythm. 

"Oh," was as much as Eames could say.

Arthur let out a breathless, amused noise from somewhere in the back of his throat, still diligently working himself open. "You know," he panted, "'m not going to ride you until you get that on." And he laid out flat, pretending to settle in by lowering his head back down on the mattress. Now three fingers buried to the knuckle, the ring of muscle fluttered against them, the wall of muscle pressing in tightly, even as he eased them out.

"Well, I'm not exactly," Eames cleared his throat, shaking his head, "running on full steam here, 耶穌." A grunt and he finally rolled on the condom with a shaking hand. "Okay, there, done," he breathed, carefully looking at the point of Arthur's chin instead of elsewhere.

Arthur groaned. "Finally." And considered himself prepared enough to sit up and move to straddle over Eames. He should have made Eames slick himself up, but Arthur couldn't wait, instead he grabbed the lube and very quickly, very liberally coated the latex with what was left. Then he guided Eames inside, panting and shuddering as he slowly lowered himself down the shaft, his clean hand braced against Eames' chest.

Eames groaned, eyes closing as he instantly curled his hands around Arthur's back, fingers splaying across his ribs, trying to breathe in. They were both shaking, breath coming unevenly. "Arthur..." He leaned in closer, skating his lips across skin, hand migrating from Arthur's back to thigh, curling lightly around his length.

" _Eames_ ," Arthur said, sharp and desperate as he tried to give himself a moment to adjust to the overwhelming sensations; the warm fullness inside, the gentle pressure of Eames' hand wrapped around him... Arthur mouthed at whatever pieces of Eames he could reach as he carefully started to move, making use of abdominal muscles as he dragged his body up and back down.

" _Arthur_ , jesus _fuck_ -" Eames clutched desperately at Arthur's skin, pressing him as close as he could while still allowing him to move. "God, that's fucking brilliant, Arthur, Arthur," he gasped, licking, kissing, squeezing his fingers around the warmth in his hand, pressing his thumb to the head.

"Fuck, if you keep doing that I'm going to cum," Arthur panted back, moving faster, then slower and switching up the pace - until he hit that small gland and _froze_ , mouth falling open in a silent cry as he tumbled over the edge, the muscles tightening before going completely and utterly lax. 

"That's alright," Eames managed before letting go, gripping Arthur's hips instead, nose pressed into Arthur's sternum and Arthur could feel him pulsing inside - Eames, too? Jesus. "Fuck," Eames said shortly and folded his legs, lifting Arthur off and onto his crossed shins.

Arthur helped, taking as much of his own weight as he could and letting Eames put him wherever he wanted. "I'm not sure if we're getting better or worse," Arthur mused and gave a tired laugh as he slumped and rested his cheek on top of Eames. Truth be told he was slightly embarrassed to have lasted only a few minutes, but he was too exhausted and sated to be bothered by much.

"Do you have a working measuring scale or something? Good god, it took a lot of effort to last even that long after such a show. Give a guy some warning would you, so I can come up with some fittingly mundane math or machine parts to think about." Eames sighed, getting rid of the condoms, frowning slightly when it was just the small wastebasket to work with. "We should probably shower," he commented tiredly, eyeing the narrow door on the other side of the room.

Arthur preened, then delicately peeled himself from Eames before climbing out of the bed with a "Yeah." He moved his old clothes aside and grabbed a fresh pair of boxer-briefs - Eames had called his preference of underwear when they were on Rook, but Arthur tried to ignore that fact - and the other apparel he'd recently purchased with money given to him by Ariadne's family: actual sleepwear. Small comforts, certainly not as nice as the silk, but flannel in an unobtrusive pattern was passable. He padded across the room, and didn't bother to shut the door as he started the shower with a yawn. He gave it a moment to heat up before stepping inside the spray.

It wasn't long until Eames stuck his face between curtain and wall, squinting at the spray of water. "May I come in? For the sake of water and time economy and all."

"To save water and time," Arthur agreed with mock reasonableness and pulled the curtain further back with a genuine smile. Tired, but genuine. He shifted to give Eames some room. "I've got more boxers," he paused, he had more of Eames' boxers to be precise, "...if you want them back."

"Oh, I guess," Eames allowed magnanimously, ducking his head under the water and holding on to Arthur's ribs as he did so, standing a bit behind and collecting whatever fell over Arthur's shoulder. "I was wondering why I was running out," he half laughed. "I doubt you have a spare toothbrush."

"I bought a few, actually," Arthur admitted and tried not to feel ashamed. Being stuck on Black Rock had brought back old habits, his instinct to hoard supplies being one of them. There were also more rolls of toilet paper and deodorants and soaps and razors than he could possibly need, but the impulse had been too strong to ignore and because they weren't perishable goods he had ceded to the urge. He scrubbed himself down with sponge and rinsed it off thoroughly before offering it to Eames. 

It had been a point of contention with Charlotte at times, and had been met with confusion or ridicule and worst of all pity with others until he'd learned to stop taking people back to his place. Honestly, it wasn't that he expected Eames to comment negatively, or sniff at him in disdain, but it was too ingrained for him to raise his hackles and brace himself. Subtly though, not an overt display. He would handle anything Eames might do or say without issue.

Eames tilted his head, accepting the sponge and smiling. "Man, you are completely ready for unexpected sleepovers, aren't you?" he laughed, ducking forward and shouldering Arthur on purpose to grab the soap before beginning to lather himself up. He pressed a kiss to Arthur's shoulder. "I'd ask after razors but you use the safe ones and it's just not that same," he sighed dramatically.

A joke. An almost... complementary joke. Gentle and unassuming. It brought a smile back to Arthur's face, further relaxing him, and he turned his head to press a soft kiss to Eames' temple. "It's basic risk-reward analysis," he said dryly about the razors and started in on washing the pomade out of his hair. "But if you'd rather wear your stubble, be my guest." Eames looked unfairly good no matter what, not that Arthur was the type to say it. He rinsed and lingered in the shower for Eames to finish, gracefully stepping out of the spray so Eames had better access to it.

"You absolutely love my stubble, don't you complain," Eames prodded, sticking his head under the spray once more, the phrase coming out a bit bubbled although still intelligible.

Arthur gave him a flat look though Eames couldn't see it, but there was still amusement in the other lines of his face. "And what about the stubble burn? How do I feel about that?" he challenged, though it had never caused much irritation before. 

Something stirred in him as he watched Eames, rivulets of water rolling down smooth skin and hair. That was all his. He could explore every inch of skin, and not only was he allowed, he was _welcome_. And Eames wanted him too. Saw him and knew who he was and still... wanted him. It was a powerful feeling, heady and grounding all at once. It wasn't lust... it was deeper, more permanent. It was gratitude and awe and it almost felt too real. Too vivid and visceral. But for once, the fear didn't outweigh the thrill. He stayed exactly where he was.

"I wouldn't know - and I do try to be careful about it," Eames waved a hand, vision and clarity of speech still obscured by the stream of water. Once done, he shut off the water, grinning and shaking his head, sending droplets everywhere. He ducked forward, pressing a kiss to Arthur's lips quickly before stepping around to grab one of the towels. "Where do you keep your stash of supplies?"

Arthur smiled, deeply content as Eames left the shower. He was just behind him, taking his own towel and beginning to dry himself off, and while there was still the instinct to get squirrelly and not let Eames see the extent of his problem he resisted it. A tenuous extension of the earlier trust. "Toothbrushes are in the drawer," he said, and there were roughly twenty of them in spread purchases of cheap twinpacks, "everything else is under the sinks. And the bed." Still difficult to escape the discomfort, even as he moved closer and pulled open the drawer on the other side, the one where he kept the toothpaste and dental floss. Mouthwash in various brands and sizes were down on Eames side. He pulled out an open tube of it for Eames while he dressed himself.

"Any story behind this you're okay with talking about?" Eames asked cheerily, starting on brushing his teeth.

"No," Arthur said simply. It wasn't a story he wanted to tell and he didn't want the night to end on such a painful note. He supposed he could have told Eames a version of the truth, that he simply didn't want to go without, but it would have felt like a lie and Eames had already implied he was fine with letting the issue drop. 

Arthur tugged the plain t-shirt over his head and took up his place by the sink, starting in on his own nightly rituals quietly.

"Where do you keep my pants?" Eames asked after he rinsed his mouth and headed into the room. "Should I go look for them or would you prefer me in the nude?"

The response was nearly instant and entirely unconscious; Arthur went from pensive to completely settled and he yawned around his toothbrush before he rinsed his mouth out. "Top left," he said and didn't commit to either option. Eames could remain in the buff, Arthur just didn't want to be cold. Ariel's temperature had been set when it had been terraformed so that it dropped no lower than twenty-three degrees and rose no higher than twenty-six. That technology had either been ignored, or more likely, had been unavailable to Hera. He yawned again as he finished flossing and made his way back towards the bed, which he neatly slipped into. "Under the socks." he added, because there was a large number of socks, though now they were matched and tucked away.

"Is there a sequence to these too?"

"Asshole," he sniped from the bed while Eames ruined the organization of his socks, but he couldn't be bothered to put much conviction behind it nor venture out from under the blankets to fix them. Besides, Eames was too quick to slip into bed. Arthur would have needed to climb over him and it was far too much hassle for something that could wait until Eames was gone. And then Eames was tracing a finger along his jaw, and Arthur let his eyes close as he leaned into the touch. Eames, he thought, would be very good at aftercare if it were ever fully and properly explained to him. There wasn't much to it, but Arthur was still too tired to go into it, and Eames' had an early morning. "Alarm," he said and it came out almost as a purr, surprising him into alertness. He blinked, slightly flummoxed by it. He cleared his throat, and twisted around to grab the pad on the nightstand behind him as though nothing had happened. "What time do you need to wake up?" He asked in a much more normal speaking style.

Eames shifted with a groan. "Six, I suppose," he sighed, sliding his arm under the pillow so he could look backwards until Arthur settled back down. 

Arthur set it at exactly six, though part him wanted to set it a few minutes earlier to say goodbyes for the day. They hadn't exactly made plans to see each other again, maybe Arthur would bring him lunch. "Done," he said unnecessarily and put the pad back before laying back down and curling himself around Eames. If he didn't, he was half-certain Eames would, and if not, Arthur would do it in the middle of the night while he slept. He'd proven that much on Persephone. And for once Arthur was completely at ease, worn out in the best way, and entirely satisfied. Deep in his bones. Eames was there in his bed, snaking an arm around him, equally drowsy it seemed and Arthur was too tired to check the smile, or the soft, languid kiss, before he wrapped an arm around Eames and nestled. He fell fast into sleep, and slept heavily through the night. Dreamless, blissfully dreamless.

The alarm went off abruptly and Eames buried his head in Arthur's shoulder, muttering something doubtlessly unflattering into his skin. The noise persisted and eventually Eames got up with a sigh to shut it off.

Arthur watched him unhappily, aching for more time. He cleared his throat and wiped the expression from his face, shifting into a more practical, more alert frame of mind. "I think I have," he broke into a yawn suddenly, which he hastily muffled as he sat up, "some unaltered clothing." There was a few items that had gotten mixed in, it had been difficult to tell, and some things had been boxed together in the interest of conserving the number of boxes and bags they took with them. "Bottom right." He said and rubbed his eyes with one hand while he propped himself up on the other. 

Eames just whined and ducked down for a kiss. Arthur's arm buckled and he barely kept himself from falling, turning it into a distinctly graceless slide that had him half-reclined, half-curled into the headboard. His fingers wound themselves in Eames' short hair, even as he offered protest, "You're going to be late." He didn't let go though.

"Mmm, oh no," Eames agreed flatly, turning slightly on his elbow so he was only half on Arthur, though their legs were still tangled. "I'll take my chances."

It was difficult to be objective about this: the idea of spending another day with Eames, even if they just laid in bed together, was an alluring one. They had less than a week, and there was a lot that needed to be discussed. On the other hand, Eames still had obligations. Arthur needed more information. "Does your father need _you_?" he asked, because if Eames wasn't specifically needed at the repair shop, it made it that much easier to let the matter slide. A few hours late wouldn't be a travesty. 

"He's spent five years without me. I'd say I'm not essential and he has those little gnomes who help him." Eames shifted closer. "Probably shouldn't even have set the alarm but at least this way we can say we tried."

"Ass," Arthur mumbled, vocalizing his annoyance at finding out sleep had been interrupted for no reason. But the annoyance was short-lived, and he moved to better accommodate Eames and straighten out his spine. He then smiled at Eames. "Does that mean you'll finally make me an omelet?" he asked, half-joking, and half-serious. He was hungry.

"Well would you like one now, because any later and I'm like to run into Florence." Eames chuckled, stealing another kiss and edging his fingers under Arthur's shirt. "And then my dad would have to come get me after she tells him where I am, just like in school."

Arthur hmm'd thoughtfully, that was a problem. He let his fingers rove, absently massaging Eames' scalp as Eames' own fingers skimmed his stomach. He was hungry now, but he wasn't ready to leave the bed. He also didn't want Eames' father to catch him, and Florence had seemed to buy the story that Eames had errands to run... "I'll bring you breakfast then," he decided, "and you can hide here for the rest of the day." Florence would probably be happy he was eating that much and mostly occupied with her daughter. And keeping Eames cooped up in his room appealed to baser instincts, a selfish desire to keep Eames to himself for a little while. 

"There's probably stuff in the fridge or if we wait a bit there'll be fresh breakfast. I'm not sure about the rest of the day though, this is the..." Eames paused, tilting his head under Arthur's fingers. "Fourth place my father would have whoever he sends look." He checked a yawn, before turning onto his side, pressing Arthur to him with the hand that had been skimming under his shirt.

Arthur was planning to wait a little, until Florence had breakfast going, since he had no intention of leaving just yet. "What are the first three?" he asked then, as Eames tucked his hand into the back of Arthur's pants: "And really? Could you keep it decent?" But he made absolutely no effort to remove Eames' hand, or even make it uncomfortable for him. 

"I'm completely decent," Eames grinned, making no effort to remove his hand either. "And knowing what he knows, he'd guess Yartis first - the ship yard, the "shady bar", there's a somewhat underground opium den that he thinks I still frequent, even though I don't even know if it's there anymore and the market we were at yesterday. So we have quite a bit of time - it's not even eight yet."

"An opium den," Arthur repeated, uncomfortable with the thought. But Eames had said it was something his father thought he still did, not something he confessed to doing. There was a niggling worry that that was why he had been so obtuse about taking his painkillers, if he'd been struggling to beat an addiction while everyone around him tried to pressure him into taking drugs. Not that ibuprofen was opium, but drugs were a tricky thing. Arthur could worry about how they would spend the day later.

"Mm. You know, if there was one thing the war was good for, it was for putting priorities straight and getting quickly rid of any addictions - except cigarettes, those were freely available. Not that it stopped me from getting sucked right back in afterwards, but at least not for long and I had another tragedy to set me straight if I really hadn't learned my lesson." Eames sighed and closed his eyes. "It's why I avoided the painkillers, that, and because I hadn't actual need of them since..." He cleared his throat. "But yeah, it could have been shut down for all I know, especially since I believe when I left it was beginning to act as a front for even less savory things."

Arthur was quick to recognize the signs of discomfort, of painful memories and he brought his hand around to Eames' cheek, gently running his thumb over the stubble-roughened skin. Eames offered him a weak smile. Arthur didn't know the specifics, but he knew enough, and he didn't need to drag out the details. He let silence reign for a moment, his hands still seeking to soothe old hurts. And then, because it seemed to be their pattern, trading honesty and vulnerabilities as a show of support and ultimately trust. Trust that these things, these wounds that may never fully heal, wouldn't be used against them.

And Eames had asked about it the other night, and now that Arthur had time to think on it, to brace himself and come to grips with the question, he felt he could answer it for Eames. "Methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus," he said, finding it slightly more difficult than he thought. But Eames had shared something with him, and he was determined to show he could do the same. At least with Eames who never offered saccharine sympathies or tried to silence him. "That's why I'm so anal about hygiene." He swallowed tightly, "Her name was Su Lyn and she died in the bed right next to mine."

"Oh jesus. So it's just toothbrushes? Although, goodness, how did you not have panic attack after panic attack on Black Rock or even in that motel on Persephone? They weren't the most hygienic places in the world."

"Soap," Arthur said, adding to the list of things he hoarded, he was even worse about soap, which Eames would have found if he'd had cause to open the cabinets under the sink, "shampoo, conditioner, toilet paper... do you need me to go on?" he asked, "And this is me panicking. This is me completely regressing, because I stopped this years ago. After Charlotte threw away most of my soap to make room for her make-up and all her other cosmetic creams, and I... I shouted at her." He started to withdraw preemptively, pushing himself away before Eames could, "After that I tried to make sure there was only a few extra bars, and ample room for her things." 

It wasn't his best moment, and one that certainly made him realize how much of an asshole he could be, and that Charlotte had deserved to get away from that. A part of him resented that she hadn't understood, that she didn't seem to grasp how hard he worked to make changes. The need to move away was intense; if he removed himself, he wouldn't be hurt because it had been his decision. But then Eames hand, still down his pants, stayed him. This was Eames. He'd shouted and railed against him, and been either quieted or shouted and railed at in return.

"That was why I got so upset with Yusuf when we found that infection." And why he hadn't been burdened at all when the wound needed to washed. He had honestly been relieved he was the one to do it, that he could be certain Eames was taken care of properly and not some half-assed attempt by some doctor that was too busy with other patients to take care of any of them. It was an issue he had long before Yusuf.

"Ah. Well, I don't have any cosmetic creams. And you can yell at me all you want - hasn't scared me yet. Anyway, it's not such a bad thing, not compared to hoarding gunpowder or something else that's bound to lead to disaster," Eames said, then hesitated before continuing. "If I had that sort of stash on my ship, I'd be pretty popular on moons and Border planets alike. They often have problems with access to food stuffs, hygiene is forgotten in favor of survival."

Well. Now it had be brought up. In a circuitous way, but nevertheless the topic was there and to ignore it now would only encourage Arthur to keep ignoring it. He steeled himself. "I bet." He said, not certain of the best way to say it. Whether it was better to be direct and tear the bandage off quickly, or to be less direct and break the news more gently. Gentle was never his forte. "You should take it then. I'm going to try not to bring all of it when I... leave with Kinsley."

"If you don't want it," Eames said, tucking his head into Arthur's shoulder, the arm around Arthur's waist tightening. "I shouldn't go to waste."

Arthur held Eames close, resting his chin on top of his head. It wasn't easy for him, and he was glad Eames had decided not to make it more difficult than it had to be. He just wasn't ready to make that commitment. His entire life had been spent going with whatever option had be laid in front of him. He had to know what he wanted, instead of settling and making himself believe it was what he wanted. But even laying here, in bed, he knew he'd rather be with Eames than some entry level job. It was just... too much, too fast, to just dive into this relationship. To move in and travel the 'Verse, just the two of them. 

Eventually they separated to get out of bed and get dressed, Eames deciding that if they only had a week left he really wanted to play hooky and then suggesting they go to the beach. The day had dawned bright and pleasant, so Arthur agreed, making the trek downstairs to get breakfast for the both of them. As expected, Florence was delighted to offer him generous helpings, and more fortunately, there was a crowd at breakfast which gave him a tidy excuse to leave the dining area. Possibly people waiting for Fey, possibly only happenstance. Arthur didn't stay long enough to find out, only to nab a second napkin, asking for another or for a second plate would only have been suspicious. But he had enough for two piled onto the plate, a large number of bao threatening to roll off the plate in fact, which forced him to be careful on his way back up the steps. The door proved to be another obstacle, but he managed without incident and entered the room again.

They ate with companionable banter, Arthur trying to teach Eames to use napkins instead of just dabbing greasy fingers into his wrist. They were in no hurry, especially with the sudden eruption of noise that marked Fey's arrival.

Arthur chewed slowly as a thought struck him. He knew what little history there was between Eames and Fey, but he knew only the beginnings of what happened with Morgan. The curiosity was a niggling thing in the back of his mind, working it's way forward until he had to ask, "Why did things end with Morgan?"

"He wanted a family. As much as he professed not to like kids, he certainly wanted one of his own. You can't do that zipping around the 'Verse or, well, I suppose you can but it's not good for anyone." Eames waved around another bao, gesturing in the negative. "Maybe in a decade or two I can imagine actually staying in one place but certainly not now, while I've still got some strength. Legal business or not, staying planetside is boring."

Arthur let that slot into place. And surprising was too strong a descriptor, but Arthur had not expected that as the reason. Eames had seemed to like children, of course, there was a very fundamental difference between liking children and wanting one. Of course, if Arthur settled down and stayed planetside, what did that mean for them? A visit every few months until Eames' itchy feet had him leaving. And those visits would more than likely peter out long before Arthur was ready to consign to such close and constant quarters. He might not ever be ready. He tried not to let the thoughts sour his mood. The feeling of displacement, that fear that no choice was the right one, the fear that if he actually went after what he wanted, if he left with Eames instead... How would he ever recover if it fell apart? Basic risk-reward analysis and Arthur had stopped taking risks. 

"No. Certainly too difficult to raise kids in such an isolated environment." Arthur agreed to distract himself, "And you had trouble with the pigs," he teased, looking for ground that didn't feel like it was crumbling beneath his feet. There was an order to things. You do mundane shit because it's what you're supposed to do, you clock in and clock out, go home or head out and get to know someone and months later maybe you move in and then get married if it's in the cards. Arthur had been coached through the process of adapting to civilian life, he knew what was expected. 

"The pigs did plenty of socializing between themselves and I didn't have to play daddy and check homework or change diapers. Not to mention I always have this to come back to." Eames gestured around himself. "Not this specifically but my dad's business, that's not going anywhere quick - try as I might to get out of it, its a family affair. It's security of a sort that allows me to travel so if anything really goes south I have some place to return to. But fixing people's things all day?" He sighed and shook his head. "When I'm the one who broke my hip, maybe I'll consider it. And it'll be too late for kids by then so as far as I know, they aren't in my future."

He smiled slightly as he took another bite. "But the feeling really must be alien to you: putting your life in the hands of fate. Although you fared admirably, dealing with the crash, you asked me out for coffee when we already know each other's darkest secrets. It was too out of order for you, the way things went, wasn't it?" 

Arthur stared, caught somewhere between awe and fear, because god damn, Eames read him better and better it seemed. "Yes," he admitted, "It's not the way things are done." He used another bite of bao to afford himself some time. "It's not, I mean, it can't be healthy. We were dependent on each other, and stuck inside that tiny tent, and everything that happened--" 

And how did that make any of it less real? Was his closeness with Mal and Dom something he was willing to let go of by that same logic? If they had survived the war, he openly admitted to the fact he'd planned to tether himself to them. "Find something else to talk about," Arthur urged, almost demanded in his haste for a change in topic. He needed to think about it on his own, he wasn't ready to verbalize it.

"Well, it wasn't the only reason anyway," Eames continued without missing a beat. "I'm social but I'm not that social. Morgan would probably shrivel up and die in space since there's no one to talk to and waving can only give you so much conversation, especially if whoever you want to talk to isn't on ship time. In the same vein, I can't spend all my time surrounded by other people."

And that did surprise Arthur, forcing him out of his fouling mood. "Really?" Arthur asked, an almost kneejerk reaction because obviously it was the case, Eames had just said it. "I assumed you--" And the pieces fit into place. Eames spent large amounts of time traveling through the black alone by choice. Clearly social interaction was not something Eames had great need of. "Is that why you don't like being planetside for long?" he asked, changing tracks, because now that it had been said it seemed painfully obvious and his surprise was now more embarrassing than anything else.

"No, not that. Actually the opposite of that. It's not the only reason, but when you stay too long in one place, you get to know people and then you get embroiled in petty fights and responsibilities that you really don't need. People expect you to form opinions because of loyalties, not because you actually feel that way. It doesn't always happen but it happens a good lot and you end up fighting people just because your neighbor told you so and if you resist the influence you upset your own friends. It's just not on." Eames shrugged, taking another bite, the plate quickly finished between them. "It's a bit how wars get started in the first place."

Arthur would say there were a lot of other factors, but he had no desire to discuss how much loyalties and petty disputes had to do with a war that cost him four years, two parents, and more friends than he cared to put a number to. He could agree with the rest however, even if he managed to avoid a large part of office and social politics, he wasn't immune to loyalties. "Sounds like you're more antisocial than I am, you're just better at hiding it," he said, mildly amused. To say what he was thinking, and defend his choice of leaving with this, because everything Eames described were things that were true in relationships, would have been cruel and unnecessary, so Arthur didn't.

"Maybe," Eames shrugged, smirking. "But at least I _like_ talking to people."

"I'll bring this downstairs, if you want to grab the rucksack and pack some towels. I'll met you outside," he said as he picked up the dirtied plate and piled the napkins on top.

"Sure. Out the window, my favorite. It's almost as if we're having a torrid affair."

"Almost?" Arthur asked slyly as he left the room. The trip downstairs was short, and he was forced into a meet and greet as someone else volunteered to deal with the plate. Fey seemed like a very nice girl, and she'd brought another girl, one Florence seemed to believe was merely a friend, but with what Eames had said earlier and the fact they were never more than a few inches apart, Arthur was relatively certain there was more than friendship.

Once Arthur got to the bus stop, he made sure to send Eames after some sun block. It was to the same pharmacy they had stopped at the other night so he contented himself to staying with the rucksack. Eames returned looking uncertain and handed Arthur a bag with a tube in it. The rest of the wait Arthur spent education Eames on the use and merits of sunscreen, and the meaning of SPF. Apparently the last time Eames had used sunscreen, he'd been twenty-three and his mother had taken care of it for him.

"Twenty-three," Arthur teased, "I was engaged and halfway to becoming the head of my department. Your mother was buying you sunscreen." Granted, it was difficult to say with certainty he would have been as self-sufficient if his parents, hell, if Dom or Mal, had still been alive. If he hadn't grown up so quickly in the middle of a war. He shifted a little closer to Eames, just in case he had pushed too far. He didn't think less of Eames because their circumstances had been different, and considering how poorly his decisions to marry and pursue a career with the Alliance had proved... there was probably a joke to be made at his expense too. And it was honestly nice to know Eames wasn't as infallible and brilliant as he seemed. Endearing, even, that he didn't know about something as simple and mundane as sunscreen. Arthur checked for people, and then snuck a soft kiss to Eames cheek.

Eames settled for pouting, tilting his cheek into the kiss then smiled slightly, running his fingers along the back of Arthur's neck. "Then it fits you to be the responsible one. I can relax."

Arthur leaned into the touch, growing less and less worried about public displays the more often they happened. There weren't many people, and certainly not anyone they knew. The bus pulled up eventually and they got on, finding it mostly empty. It stayed such for the duration of the ride. Arthur asked about work: perhaps he could work in Eames' shop for a little extra cash, but Eames could say neither yay or nay. It all depended on his father. Eventually, Eames nodded off and the scenery kept Arthur company until his mind started to drift as buildings became less and less cloistered together on the outskirts. 

He thought about his life, about what he was going to do with it. About the fact that this thing with Eames couldn't last, but he couldn't stop himself. That he hadn't felt this in a long time. The blend of joy and misery, the fear, the thrill. He'd let himself stagnate on Ariel, worked at a job that only sometimes interested him because that was what he was supposed to do. It was better than wasting away his days at home, certainly. 

But could he really go with Eames? Could he jump off that ledge? Did sparing himself pain that may or may not come later by hurting himself now... did that make any gorram sense? He spent the trip turning his mind in circles and still felt no closer to the right answer. Eames awoke when Arthur was getting nervous about if they had missed their stop but apparently they weren't even close.

"Are you staying with me again?" Arthur asked once his thoughts circled back to that topic and tried his best not to sound too hopeful. Too greedy. But he wanted Eames in his bed while he could have him there. He wanted to soak in every moment they could. But he would understand if Eames needed to stay with his father. It was the more feasible option, especially considering Eames did need to go back to work. Arthur made a disgusted face at himself. "No. Scratch that. Stupid question."

"If I can drop by my house to grab the bike first, there's no reason I can't," Eames said and smiled, turning his head back to face Arthur. "And a couple of other things as well. And if my dad agrees to hire you?" 

Arthur felt relief sweep through him, and he gave a smile in return. A part of him unbearably pleased that Eames considered it almost a given. Enough of one that had considered it, at least. And he was no stranger to commutes, but it seemed pointless for them both to wake up early so they could both make the trip back to Eames' house and take the transport to the yard. "Does the offer to stay at your house still stand?" he ventured. More practical, Arthur already needed to pack his things. The sacrifice of privacy was a slight downside, but it was a whole house and Arthur was certain they'd find time for themselves.

"It does. I'm surprised you didn't consider that first - it is cheaper and more logical, isn't it? There's even a futon we can unpack and move to the loft area, as well. Less dust and spiderwebs means it's actually liveable now although now that I think of it, the windows could use a wash."

Arthur looked at him, stern. "You want me to sleep on a futon in the loft?" He asked incredulously. 

"We'll sleep on a futon in the loft. You can't possibly think my bed is big enough for two, my room is barely big for a twin mattress. Come summer-" Eames cleared his throat, cutting himself off. "It's the size of two rooms and if you move in I have an excuse to stay there."

Arthur furrowed his brow. He hadn't exactly seen Eames' room. "What is it with you and small beds?" he groused. But that was fine. He would take a futon with Eames over alone in the hotel. Or alone at home, the thought rose unbidden. And he wouldn't have called the loft the size of two rooms, but then he had to forcibly remind himself that his idea of a room, and Eames' idea of a room, were subject to their economic statuses.

"Because space is at a premium, of course. Or do you expect me to sacrifice safety for leg room? And that used to be my childhood bedroom. In a two room and a kitchen house, of course it's going to be small. Most of the space went to the place we keep the transport, anyway. Could have been bigger," Eames laughed, spreading his arms. 

"Why do you need an excuse, if your room and bed are that small, why did you wait so long to--" Arthur cut himself off. Because his mother's things had been in there?

"There were things up there. And I hadn't the time or energy to work on cleaning them out."

Arthur could understand not wanting to go through her things. Arthur could understand that quite well. There were entire sections of his home he avoided. His father's study remained untouched, being alienated from most of a small family meant everything had been left to him. It would take more than limited space to get him in there again. "Do you still have all the boxes?" he asked, trying to phrase it delicately and avoid actively mentioning Eames' mother. He didn't want to ruin Eames good mood. 

"Still where we left them yesterday," Eames nodded. "I could have called but it can wait I suppose. It's certainly not getting any worse for wear nor going bad either."

"Do you want to go through them first, see if there's something you do want to keep?" Arthur asked, very much willing to be there if Eames needed him. But for all he knew Eames just wanted to be rid of all of it. Or would rather do it alone.

The fields blurred together, the bus picking up speed the further from the city they got. That would explain the pervasive smell of wet dirt, and it seemed they still had a ways to go, there was nothing but crop fields for as far as he could see. But they were moving at a decent clip now.

"I'm not sure..." Eames said haltingly, furrowing his eyebrows. "It's usually other people who get the dubious honor of doing that. Nah, I think I'll let them lie."

"All right," Arthur said, dropping the subject. He understood, and he was quick to shift topics, anything to get that smile back. "So, how big is this futon, and how creaky is the floor?" He asked, smiling archly. If all they had was a week, Arthur had plans to make the most of it. If this was the end... might as well make it a good one.

Eames laughed easily at that, sitting up a little bit straighter. "Queen size, unfolded and not at all. It's usually the bed frame that causes problems, isn't it? Not to mention it's very hard to walk in accidentally, given there's a ladder and all."

Arthur smiled, brighter, more wholesome, happy to see Eames' laughing. Thrilled to have been the cause. "I was only interested in exercising up there," he responded with feigned innocence. The bus slowed to a stop, the brakes screeching some and people hastened to finally be off the poorly ventilated vehicle. Arthur wrapped his fingers around the straps, ready to move out as soon as Eames did.

"Well then why do squeaky floors matter? Unless you only exercise at night when no one can see you." Eames stood, carefully heading between the seats as the bus pulled to a final stop, turning around once he descended the steps, waiting for Arthur to catch up. "Now we head past the fisheries and towards the water. It cliffs first before the beach at the bottom in a bit of a cove, which is what I really meant when I said hike. Otherwise, we'll be there in twenty minutes."

Arthur followed behind, slinging the rucksack over his shoulder before he climbed down the stairs. And he was more than willing to let Eames take the lead on this one since he was more familiar with the route. Though he did take a moment to stretch out his legs. "Lead the way."

Eames set the pace, tucking his hands into his pockets as he walked, squinting slightly at the sun as it rose even further. "Are we planning to head back for dinner?" Arthur asked eventually, after they had argued over and settled the issue of who was carrying the bag. If the bus schedule could be counted on, their options were 16:20 if they wanted to be back for a later dinner, and 20:15 if they wanted to have dinner out here.

"Yeah, sure." Eames stuck his hand in his pocket, taking out the busted old comm he kept, probably to check the time. "Ah, Ariadne's been wanting to talk it seems," he said, half surprised as he woke up the screen.

"Today?" Arthur asked. He hadn't seen any missed calls on his pad, though he hadn't checked it this morning. Though, who knew if she was still willing to talk to him. It did bring up the question, "Do you want to tell her?" 

And this must have been the cliff Eames spoke of: the grassy plain cut off abruptly and if Arthur peered over the edge, he could see it sloping steeply down to a crescent of sand down where the waves were crashing.

"Yeah, while I was asleep. But I don't know. Are you ready to answer any questions she might have? If you want, you can give me the bag for now. I know the way so I'm less likely to trip." He made his way down the first short set of rusted metal steps before pausing and looking upwards.

Arthur gave him a distinctly unamused look, precarious as the walk down might be, Arthur was capable of making it with or without a bag weighing less than thirty pounds. He looped it across both shoulders for better weight distribution and stepped down easily. He didn't bother to acknowledge the question otherwise.

"I guess we need to figure out what our answers are." Arthur said, not sure if the subject should be boached now or if they should wait. He was back on the fence about leaving, but he'd already said he was going.

"More like what her reactions to those answers will be. If you're set on leaving once the week is out, we probably shouldn't tell her."

Arthur was a little surprised to hear Eames put it that way, and even though it was the conclusion he'd reached, that things were over if he left, it... stung. He put his hand on the cliff side to ensure his balance as he picked his way over rocky terrain. He stuffed the hurt. "Probably shouldn't then," he said, "not if it's... just for the week." 

"I do expect you to still keep in contact at all hours of the day and night and not be shy about it," Eames stated, raising his eyebrows pointedly and turning slightly back as he walked making faster progress than Arthur on the path downward. "Just because you're leaving doesn't mean it's over."

"Isn't this exactly why you ended things with Morgan? Because he didn't want to travel, and you didn't want to settle?" Arthur challenged, attempting to stay neutral, but there was a tremor of frustrated hurt warbling his voice slightly. "We'll stay in contact," he added but left out the fact he doubted it would be kept up. 

"I don't remember hearing an invitation for me to come with you," Eames chuckled lightly, though it was more bitter than not. "And it wasn't the only reason, I told you so. As I see it, you aren't leaving forever, just until you get settled and any dregs of a manhunt blow over. Am I wrong? Are you planning to dig in roots somewhere?"

"Because you've made it abundantly clear that you want a permanent place of residence," Arthur said sarcastically. He didn't want to be refused, nor did he want Eames to settle against his wishes and resent Arthur for it, so he hadn't asked. "And if that was the plan, I wouldn't bother asking Kinsley to find a job for me. I wouldn't bother going with her at all." That answered whether Eames had cracked the code or not. "I thought you knew that," he said, remorseful. And it was difficult to put into words, because he did want to consider the option of joining Eames, but it had only been if things didn't work out with Kinsley. He just didn't want Eames to think this was a sure thing. Arthur may never be ready to commit in that way. To enclose himself in such tight quarters with little outside contact... as appealing as it sounded now, later? At least on Black Rock they'd had other people to converse with if they needed to. "The fact that you don't want to tell Ariadne should be a hint as to how you feel about how long we'll last."

"Not true. I'm afraid she'll scare you off, make you think that to have me you need to be absolutely sure of everything which I swear to you you don't. She wasn't exactly of a flattering opinion back on Rook - which, sorry, by the way, I ended up telling her about that. As for how long we really will last, only time can tell you that, and only if we both make an effort. But at the same time, you should do whatever makes you happy."

Arthur refrained from the morbid comment that happiness no longer seemed possible, if it ever had been. Between a career that was more paperwork than payoff and an abysmal social life that was too much effort for people that would only make snide comments... Arthur wasn't sure he knew what happiness even meant anymore. He'd take content. He could content himself to work on some distant moon, probably alone. He could forge a life from that. 

"I'm being practical here," Arthur said, to stem any comments about dramatics, "do you really think we stand a chance? You'll be gone for months at a time, and I'll have my own obligations." God. This was why he had given up on so many relationships, cutting them off at the knees before he could get hurt. Except it was too late with Eames. And maybe Ariadne did have a point. He should have been more certain of things, but Eames had asked him if it was a date... and Arthur had just given in. The offer had been too good to ignore.

"I do," Eames frowned, then started over. "I wish and want, at the very least. But at the same time, there's a whole slew of things you aren't telling me. I still can't make any decisions without all the cards on the table.

"Where will you go? What will you do? If I have to use just that much more fuel to see you will you, what, forbid me to do it? Almost anywhere in Georgia or the Red Sun system and you're at a crossroads or do you foresee your friend putting you somewhere in the Blue Sun system, on New Canaan? Do _you_ want to make it work because by the stars I will think of something if that's what _you_ want." Eames pressed his hand hard into sun warmed stone, halting his progress downward, although he was still looking towards the path. "I just... I don't see how jumping to the worst conclusion you can think of will help us make the most of it - I want to be with you and I can't change anything if you decide immediately that there's no chance."

Arthur couldn't step around Eames, which meant he was stuck behind him until they had this out. "And I don't see how trying to breathe life into something that cannot feasibly work is doing either of us any favors. I don't want to spend the rest of my life waiting for visits that get shorter and shorter and fewer and fewer. And I don't want you to spend the rest of your life dragging this out because you're some kind of martyr that would rather die than admit this relationship couldn't be more problematic. Just because you want something, doesn't mean you'll get it. At a certain point you have to grow up and realize that you can't have what you want, when you want it," he said, some of Eames' frustration reflecting back and seeding Arthur's own. He knew he had a point, just because there had been other factors with Morgan didn't mean that distance wasn't an issue. It would be. And there were plenty of other issues in their relationship too. Such as the fact Arthur still had trouble saying what he actually wanted and what he genuinely felt. He didn't even know what was genuine between them and what was just survival instinct or Arthur was latching onto the only person he'd opened up to so completely in years. The person who had talked him down and guided him through his worst nightmares. And he knew it was stupid, a terrible defense, but it was so hard to unlearn it. As if pushing Eames and hurting them both now because it might happen later... God he hated feelings. Fucking awful.

Eames rounded on him. "So now it can't even _feasibly_ work, can it? Where are you getting this information? Why would they get shorter? Why would they be anything longer than a normal nine hour day's work? I can keep business to the inner three systems, hell, I think of a whole ton of things I can put my skillset to off planet that would take a day or two being gone at most! Am I breathing life into something or are you trying to destroy it because you refuse to consider any alternatives or god forbid compromises? What are you scared of? I'm not asking you to uproot, I'm telling you we can work it out if we put our minds to it - no, it's me who's immature, since I'm the one willing to cede a bit for both of us to be happy. Is that why it's problematic? Because you get your horns stuck in some idea and you won't budge? You haven't even answered my questions! But fine. If you're that unready to talk, go ahead and disappear if that's what suits you." A huff and Eames turned, heading down the path once more, at a faster pace than before.

Arthur couldn't keep pace on such unfamiliar and unsteady ground, even without the bag, and he wouldn't risk it just to have Eames continuing storming off ahead. So he followed more slowly, gingerly placing his feet as he focused on balance. His mind started to drift however, pouring over their conversation. Was Eames really willing to go that far? To... basically settle in with him planetside somewhere? Arthur still choked on words. And how the hell was Eames that dedicated? He couldn't have been. He wouldn't be willing to do that, not after how he spoke of being tethered planet side. Leaving a day or two, even weekly, wouldn't spare Eames the problems he found inherent with living in a society. The tested loyalties and growing expectations. Was he just making a point, promising more than he would ever deliver because he knew Arthur would never ask? Arthur felt the fire rekindle, and his steps grew less measured, until he stepped on a loose rock and let out a sharp abortive gasp even as his fingers dug in and he caught himself. He had his feet beneath him quickly, but he didn't keep walking. Instead he granted himself a moment to slow his heart's pounding, and slumped against the cliff wall.

Eames backtracked almost immediately. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Arthur sniped, even as he forced himself through calming breaths. He tore off from the wall and gestured for Eames to move as though nothing had happened. Which was the fortunate truth. At least it wasn't much further, he still felt off, but not enough that it ruined his balance as he picked his way more carefully and refused to think about anything but foot placement.

"Alright," Eames nodded slowly, turning to make slow progress down once more. A couple of steps and he offered an "I'm sorry for losing my temper and running off."

Arthur snorted. "Maybe that's just something else I'm not ready to talk about," he bit out, unable to help himself from growing bitter. Yeah, it was fault of his, he didn't need his face rubbed in it. Obviously if he could be less afraid, less reserved, less callous, he would be. Might have saved him a doomed relationship or two, but he'd been upfront about his faults with Eames, and Eames knew, he had to know, how much it hurt to have it shoved in his face. And if that was what every fight was going to be like... well, at least Arthur knew leaving was the right decision. For both of them.

"I try to be upfront with you is all. Maybe it's too much. I hope you do decide by the time your ride comes, even if you don't want to tell me."

And Arthur had it. That snippy, passive aggressive but resigned shit. That put-upon attitude. "I ask a valid question and raise the concerns I have, _concerns with a precedent_ , and you want to act like I've told you we're done. It's funny how many times I have to say I want this, the fact that I'm willing to pack everything I own to move in for a few days, to spend my time working in a shop just for a few more hours with you every day, but if I even ask if this is going somewhere when I've been given some pretty fucking huge hints that it won't last beyond a week... that, that is me disappearing again. You want to know why I didn't answer? Because I don't fucking know! I have honest to God no knowledge of what Kinsley might have for me, and I don't know what I want-- no. I know what I want, but I don't know if it's feasible and I'm not going to waste my breath admitting that I want something I might not be able to have. _I_ have been fucking upfront with you. I told you I'm not the guy who's going to tell you how much I care every five gorramn minutes! I'm not good expressing myself, I'm not good at relationships. You're the fucking liar! You just told me you didn't need me to be certain, and at the first sign of uncertainty, you take off after making sure you leave your claw marks. It's funny what I have to do to prove I care, and how little it takes for you to assume I don't want anything to do with you."

Eames turned his head, but didn't slow his descent as he talked. "You're setting yourself up for a fall already. I appreciate you wanting to move in but at the same time you're set to leave like you have no other choice, even when I went out of my way to suggest other things that are possible. If you don't know, tell me that exact thing and we can wait until we do know to have this conversation. That's all I want from you, not some sort of unending confession. You don't need to prove to me you care - I've gathered that much, you just seem to give up on staying together just as easily as you say I assume you hate me. All you had to say was that you don't know and are preparing for the worst and I would drop it or at least confirm the fact that as soon as Rook is operational again I'd visit as soon and as often as I could."

"How many times and how many ways do I need to fucking say it? Why don't you assume that until I tell you otherwise: I don't know how things are going to be with Kinsley. I was trying to ask questions to figure it out, and of course that fucking turns into this. Forgive me for not being as certain as you obviously are, forgive me for bringing _logic and history_ into this. I forgot that I'm your fucking lifelong love, of course I'm completely different and there's not a chance that this could blow up in either of our faces." The last was drenched in sarcasm, further incensed by Eames. He was still stepping cautiously, slowly easing his way down the incline. "You're fucking ridiculous," he bit out. "Because I'm not ready to move in with you, and I don't want you to spend god knows how long waiting for me to be ready, if I ever am, clearly I'm in the wrong. Don't act like giving up is easy, because it fucking isn't. You make it impossible. But I'm trying to be reasonable here. I don't want to get burned, and I don't want you to get hurt either."

"This is the first time you've told me since it's the first time I've asked. I haven't exactly been monitoring your every move - there might not have been a good time to bring it up. If you have it all figured out like that, I suppose all I have left to do is watch this world you've thought up play out, regardless of what I would want or am willing to do. I'll go along - we can have this week and after that..." Eames shrugged, turning away.

Dear god that wasn't what he meant. That wasn't what he wanted at all, but he'd made it sound so final and he couldn't take back the words. He didn't have it all figured out, god, he'd just fucking said that. He was only trying to make a point, that he had valid reasons to be worried. And maybe he'd been unfairly looking to Eames for support and assurance, but even if he had Arthur knew he wouldn't have believed it. Not after everything he'd said this morning about living planetside. 

He swallowed tightly, glad that Eames was ahead of him and couldn't see his features contort as he tried to force himself back together. He'd finally done it. Pushed so hard Eames was backing off. Except he hadn't been trying this time. He'd been honestly scared and lashed out like he always did. A half-choked, hastily swallowed sob bubbled up, as it crashed over him. Wave after wave, it felt like, like standing up just to be knocked down by the next one.

"What, no? You don't like that conclusion? Worldview too harsh for you is it?" Eames asked, pausing to turn around. Now that Arthur did see his face, he still had barely an idea as to what Eames was thinking. "Suggest something else then, if you don't want to leave it like that. Maybe if we talked about it like normal human beings we could reach an alternative you'd like better."

Anger surged, jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. He was mortified it had been heard, he was incensed by Eames' response. He eased the bag off his back before shoving it hard into Eames' chest. "Fuck you," he snarled and started the climb back up. As beautiful as the cove was, the sight was ruined and all Arthur felt was miserable and sick. But now his heels were dug in. If showing his hurt only brought mockery, if his feelings were something to pick at... he wasn't going to stick around to provide more fodder for Eames. He didn't have any suggestions, and what was the point in salvaging this for a few more days? Might as well kill it now.

"What do you want - me to pity you? I thought you hated that!" Eames called after. "Talk to me like a fucking adult, you asshole!"

He had not been searching for pity, and it wouldn't have been welcomed, but it would have been better than vitriol. And he certainly wasn't about to turn around, not now, instead forcing himself through the slight burn in his muscles as he made the much more strenuous trip back up. He was determined to shut Eames out as he climbed, telling himself that this was what he wanted. He was done fighting, done being vulnerable. His plan was to get back to the hotel, wave Kinsley and work from there.

Arthur made the climb, feeling each and every step. There were moments that he glanced over the side and considered whether a fall like that would bring him relief or just more agony, but he'd promised Eames, and resolved to himself that he wouldn't. And he had a goal in mind. Get back. Wave Kinsley. He repeated in his mind and shut down everything else. 

He waited at the bus stop, too focused on making it to the inn to bother finding somewhere to eat first. The ride back was long and hollow, only a few people getting on and off as it drove through the city. Ignoring it proved much more difficult, but he was seated in the back and resolutely faced the window. He let himself break down, near silent to avoid notice. If anyone did, they didn't show it, and Arthur was grateful when he finally found his composure. Because it wasn't just Eames. It was everything, Eames just happened to be the final straw. 

He slipped into his room, unnoticed due to the festivities surrounding Fey that were still going on. His legs ached going up and the stairs and he crawled into bed, snagging the pad and finding that Ariadne had called him as well. He got up and washed his face before calling Kinsley first and confirming an arrival time and that she had a few different options. 

She'd contacted several other people from their team, most of whom were either coming with her or offering him places to stay, happy to finally hear from him after all these years. Arthur was stunned, and it went a long way towards bringing him back. These people were still willing to be there for him, even after all this time... 

Shit. God damn it. He had fucked up. He had _fucked up_. And he needed to be the one to fix it, if it still could be. He excused himself as gracefully as he could and moved to call Eames, before he reconsidered.

He called Ariadne first.

"Hey Arthur."

"Hey, how are you?" he asked because he was actually curious as to how she was doing. She looked well, her smile just that much brighter. That got to him, too, that she was happy to see him still. He hadn't been as kind to her as he should have been, but she had still sought him out.

"I'm not lying when I say terrific. I might be two years behind with my education but that's details and easily fixed. You seem to have been out and about yourself. Are you off Hera already? I thought your friend said two weeks?"

"I, uh," and he looked to the ceiling as though the words he needed might be found there, before he decided to bite the bullet and have it out, "I went to the beach, with Eames. It started as a date, but then I... said some things without thinking. But I'm going to fix it," he said, before she could chastise him. It was no longer 'if it could be,' he was going to make it possible. "I could use some help though." And he was braced for her anger, Eames had warned him, but he needed any and all information he could get.

"You went on a what?" She blinked rapidly, mouth falling open. "我不相信我的眼睛. Since when is this? I thought... not only were you leaving, you made it pretty clear back before we even took off that you wanted nothing to do with him. Now suddenly dates? Forgive me for being a little bit hesitant to help you but mind catching me up to what exactly happened between then and now?"

Arthur furrowed his brow. "Eames was avoiding me, I reacted. I just ended the relationship; I told him it was up to him how much contact he wanted. I was trying to be considerate by giving him space, but it wasn't exactly easy on me either. I thought you had bullied him into an apology, to be honest. I still wanted him to be my friend, that never changed," he corrected, "It took him a week before he spoke to me again," that had been a miserable period, "after that... we just... happened." He didn't want to break it down. "The problem is: I'm not ready to move into Rook, and I am, I was, worried. He hates being planetside and he was willing to break up over that with someone... who is a lot less problematic than I am," he knew his jealousy was entirely unfounded, but he couldn't stop it, "I thought I was just going to be another person he leaves behind. And I told him that... not as kindly." The rest was just them dredging up whatever could be used against the other. And while Arthur was a lot less likely to show his feelings again, he was, for once, willing to absolve Eames. "But I finally realized... the reason I'm alone... it's not because of other people. It's me. I keep people away. Self-fulfilling prophecy."

"你們都是傻瓜." Ariadne rubbed her forehead, apparently too frustrated to speak english. A sigh and she propped her pad up before dropping her chin into her hand. "And really, first of all, before you start with the self-deprecation: you met an ex of his? Unless they also travel the universe, I'm guessing it's been five years since they broke up and the reasoning behind it is moot. Half a decade is a long time and I didn't notice Eames exactly suffering from being on Black Rock any more than anyone else was, injuries aside. Not to mention whatever he hates about living planetside is no doubt based on his experiences in Dell which is... Well, all I know about the town is that there's not a whole lot to do there except a museum and Yartis isn't exactly the nicest or safest place either. Second of all, he actually invited you to move in to Rook? With no other options?"

Arthur didn't reply to the first statement. Eames had confirmed he didn't want to live planetside, so nothing had changed. "Our options are I move in with him, or he visits me when he has the time. When I was talking to him... I dismissed the latter. I didn't think it would work, I'm still not sure it will, but if I don't try..." which was exactly what Eames said. Sometimes he could be bullheaded. But what if he did just go with Eames? What if he made Kinsley and Hsu and Ellis and Ts'ao and Pan his fall backs? Kinsley had already made it abundantly clear she was happy to see him again, and had immediately asked if the number was safe to contact again. She wanted to see him in person either way and Ts'ao was flying her free of charge. He wouldn't feel badly about having her make the trip.

"Do you think we're a mistake?" he asked, he wasn't sure he cared what she thought. He wanted Eames. But... if it was wrong for Eames... he might back off.

Ariadne sighed and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, like he was giving her a headache. "Not a mistake. But if you're not careful or neither of you listens to each other I can't say it will end well either. Like I keep saying."

"So how do I fix this? Do I just apologize and tell him that I do want us to work?" Arthur asked. This time was different. This time he was going after Eames and wouldn't be brushed off by a slight misunderstanding. This time he wasn't going to be rattled. And they would probably still have fights, and Arthur would still have his concerns, but he would stop running. He was prepared to be hurt, because he knew it would be worth it. He grew steadier. He wasn't alone, he wasn't forgotten. He had people outside of Eames. He could do this. He just needed to make sure he got it right.

"I dunno, how bad did you actually upset him? For all I know, you've made him believe you won't work at all and you never want to see him again. That's going to need more than words. Although you somehow managed to convince him to go out on a date," she raised an eyebrow, leaning back, arms still crossed, "after driving him to distraction and topped it all off by scaring him - all of us, really - halfway to death with the sleeping pills. But I suppose he had the potential to be friends to look forward to. On the other hand, if this was a routine fight... Well, you wouldn't be calling me if it was a routine fight, would you?"

Enough that he snapped at Arthur for being upset, but Arthur didn't mention that much detail for the sake of his dignity. "More than I ever wanted to," he said. "It wasn't good. I don't know if he thinks _that_ ," he hoped Eames didn't, he had to at least know that Arthur had only left because he'd been upset and unable to handle it, "and if not words... how do I prove it?" And he wasn't up for talking about his drug abuse, that was a problem he considered resolved now.

Ariadne bit her lip, sighing once more. "I don't know. I don't know Eames like you do, either. I can try talking to him but neither can I say if he'll even pick up. I'd tried a third time just recently and he didn't answer, unless that's when you two were fighting. Unless, I don't know, we go through his dad, but I don't know if he has a number or what it is..."

"It should come from me, shouldn't it?" Arthur said, and it wasn't really a question. He didn't want Ariadne to mediate for him, he just needed to bounce some ideas around. Going through his father didn't sound right either. "Would talking to his ex help?" Arthur wondered out loud, Eames had mentioned Morgan liked to gossip, maybe something useful could come from that. He was sure he track him down somehow, and Arthur didn't mind pounding the pavement if he had to. Arthur knew a lot of deeply personal things and he knew Eames liked to read and enjoyed theater, he knew he liked cooking. He knew practical information, likes and some dislikes, but nothing that sparked an idea of what he might do that would be enough. 

"That might help, his ex might know where to find him. But you have argued before. How you made up then is a good place to start, too."

The only fight Arthur could remember actually fixing himself and not simply letting Eames do most of the repair work, was the night he'd gotten blackout and drunk and poured his heart out, At least, according to Eames. That had probably been more of an exaggeration than an actual outpouring. And now he was anxious, he needed to deal with this and there were a lot of steps to get there. He needed to show that he'd put thought into this, that this wasn't them just falling back into each other. He needed to make this okay, and maybe ease his own mind about this commitment. "Ariadne, I do want to catch up with you," and he meant that, he did want to talk more with her about her life and what her plans were now, but he needed to work on finding Morgan, "but can I call you after I fix this?"

She rolled her eyes but smiled, shaking her head. "Come December I'll be in New Paris, so if you want to go out for drinks before then, you'd best fix it quickly. And I want to know what happens, too," she warned, leaning forward and crossing her arms. "It's dinner time anyway and I hear my mom calling. I'd suggest you eat, too, before you get too into this. See you later?"

He'd have it settled before December. Long before then. By tonight if he was extremely fortunate, but he would wait if it meant getting things right. "Yes," he agreed, "And I'll let you know how it goes." He smiled as he said his goodbye and ended the wave. With more certainty than he'd felt in a long time, he starting searching through public records for Morgan's contact information. In a small town, there were fewer names to sort through, and even fewer with shared names. He pinpointed Morgan's within minutes and sent him a wave in the hopes the information was up to date. If not, he'd have to ask around.

"Who is this?" The man who answered was a put upon looking blond, squinting suspiciously in the process of pushing his glasses up his nose. In the background there was noisy movement and childish laughter, while the room was lit by what seemed like only a desk lamp - most of it dark but the surface of the desk and the man himself. 

"I was calling for Morgan," he ventured. If he had the right number, the blond could have been Charles. "I'm a friend of Eames'," he added, "my name's Arthur." That would hopefully be enough information. "Is this the right number?"

A sigh. "I should have know that bastard's going to be trouble. Mormor, phone!" The display switched to a brightly lit kitchen, the comm mounted on the wall. "It's not a phone anymore, Professor - no, you can't eat that, dear - Oh, Arthur, hi!" Morgan smiled at the screen, slightly stooped before he disappeared only to straighten, holding up an occupied little girl in his arms. "Pardon the mess, we've been doing a spot of baking with ChiChi here. To what do I owe the honor? Eames didn't say anything about you calling."

"I'm sorry for interrupting," he started, noting that Charles' opinion on Eames was roughly equivalent to Eames' opinion of him. "I just..." at least Charles wasn't in the room, but the comment about Eames being trouble had him reconsidering how necessary this wave was. They were exes, and even if they were on decent terms it had to be a little strange. "I'm sorry," he repeated instead, offering, "I wasn't thinking. Enjoy your baking." He hung up quickly.

Useful as the information might have been, and Arthur would have liked at least the option to decide whether or not to discard any of it as out of date, this really should come from him. Not just the delivery. All of it. A relationship that failed five or more years ago wasn't where he should be drawing information. He just hadn't known where else to seek out advice.

He pushed himself off the dresser and paced while he thought. Not being himself and making some romantic gesture inspired by Eames' ex, or even Ariadne, wasn't going to save them. Flowers and candlelight wasn't them. They started off-- Arthur stopped pacing as his comm buzzed.

It wasn't from Eames, as he'd hoped, but a text from Morgan, riddled with typos, likely stemming from the fact that he had to juggle a little girl and type at the same time: "Ith wasnt' a botgher. If you;re looking for Eames and he hasn't been in contact wirh anybody, he's probably working on whatever prohect he has. Closes guess is the ship? He'll show up in the morning. You're at Flirebce;s right? We have a pretty big cake."

Arthur didn't want to wait until morning, and he definitely didn't want cake. He needed to see Eames. He sent back a thank you to Morgan, and added that maybe another time would be better. He assumed Morgan meant he'd be with Rook, Eames had mentioned that was a place he was likely to be and it had been his instinct when Eames didn't answer. With the confirmation, or more accurately the second opinion, he headed out to the bus. The trip to Yartis would be shorter, and he looked up the address to Tamara's repair shop on the almost forty minute drive.

He made his way there, venturing inside and going directly to the woman behind the counter to ask if Eames was there. She pointed him through the doorway to the large hangar, filled with ships of different models and states of repair, to area 91.

Arthur thanked her and made his way to the section, ensuring his footsteps were louder as he drew nearer to avoid startling Eames. Who was currently on a dolly, working on something under the thruster of a ship that was definitely not Rook. "Hey," he greeted carefully.

"Arthur?" Eames frowned, putting his goggles up onto his forehead, rolling out and looking up from his seat under the thruster. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"To apologize," Arthur said, going for direct. He waited in the doorway. Eames was clearly not in the mood to be accommodating, it was a little more uncomfortable than he'd thought, but it would take more than that this time. "I tried sending you a wave."

"Did you now?" Eames sighed, looking up at the thruster for a second. "Look. If you want to go back to being casual acquaintances, friends, whatever, fine. I can see this isn't working for you, so you can tell me to leave you alone and that will be that. I'm certain the 'Verse is big enough for the both of us."

"I'm willing to do that, if that's what you want. But I don't. I want you. The only reason it wasn't was because I'm... an idiot. I assumed the worst and didn't give either of us a chance. I got scared, and lashed out and I think you did too. And that was my fault. I put a lot of this on you, but... I'm putting my heart on the floor now. And if you want to stomp on it, or kick it out of the way, fine. I'm still putting it out there. I... I want to come with you. I don't want to work in data entry, or coal mining, I don't even want my old life back. I want you. I want us. And if it falls apart... I'll deal with it then, and only then."

"You want to come with me?" Eames blinked, then blinked again and furrowed his brow. "Like Rook? Like... But you were so set on - why?" He tried to continue, mouth opening but only half formed words coming out until: "I mean, not why, but are you sure? I mean..." He looked down.

"Yes," Arthur said patiently, willing to say it as many times and as many different ways as he needed to get his point across. "I want to live with you, aboard Rook, for as long as you'll have me." And he wasn't looking for a promise of forever, he doubted he'd buy it even if Eames did feel the need to say it. It would stir more discomfort than anything else. "We haven't done anything else typically, to start doing it now... that's what doesn't make sense," he added, still standing in the doorway, expression remaining largely impassive as he spoke. He'd grown hyper-aware of his emotional displays since Eames' response to his embarrassing abortive sob, and they weren't likely to happen in front of him again. Logically he had forgiven Eames, but it would take time to become comfortable again.

"Alright," Eames accepted guardedly, nodding slowly without taking his eyes off Arthur. "If that's what you want, I'm open to it."

Eames didn't seem enthused about it, which only led Arthur to believe he'd done more damage than he'd thought. Maybe things wouldn't ever be the same between them, and he looked down, tired and subdued for mere seconds before his armor raised back up and he met Eames' eyes from a distance. "I could stay planetside. On Dangun." Small moon with virtually no Alliance presence unless it was summoned, according to Kinsley. It would be safe, and there were always mining positions open for a friend of Pan's. "You could visit whenever you wanted to."

Eames turned and stood, crossing his arms, leaning on the thruster. "So what is it that you want? I said staying with me was fine - more than fine, it would make me happy. So now why are you changing your mind?"

"I just told you what I want," Arthur said, a little affronted at the accusation he'd changed his mind when he'd been trying to show consideration for Eames, "All you said was that you'd be open to it, I was trying to make sure I wasn't forcing the issue and leading you to believe it was all or nothing again." Arthur remained stationary, waiting for Eames' response to determine if he needed to stay and further convince him, or if he could leave Eames to finish what he was doing and go back to the inn.

"And I'm trying not to force the issue from my side." Eames pursed his lips. "Look, I'm sorry for all that I said - for treating you like a child and ruining a good day. And if... I want us to work, I really do. If you really mean what you just said, my concerns are not true anymore but when you have doubts, you must be plainer about them, please. There's only so far my guesswork takes me and you know yourself I often get it wrong."

Arthur shifted and couldn't hide his disgust, that was still too raw for even an apology and bringing it up sparked a flicker of anger and embarrassment. But he smoothed it over as best he could, choosing to ignore it rather than deal with it. More important issues. The fact that Eames had apologized for his behavior only to essentially pin the fight on Arthur weakened the apology and had Arthur venturing closer and closer to hostility.

"I don't need you to know everything I'm feeling. Sometimes I need to sort it out myself first. I was being plain about my doubts. I don't know how I could have been any plainer about them." The entire fight had been started when Arthur asked questions about how feasible their relationship was if he stayed planetside. He'd explained his fears as the things he didn't want to happen. "If you want to set conditions, fine, but set them for yourself because your guesswork and assumptions were what turned it into a fight. If I had kept my doubts to myself we probably could have had a nicer time and I would have figured this out on my own." 

And the fact Eames had stirred up old wounds inflicted on him by other partners, and that Arthur had a tendency to react poorly when hurt in such a keen way, those had been some key factors in what caused the fight to spiral as terribly as it had. But the bulk of it, what hadn't been so petty, that had been the fact he'd dared to voice his opinion.

Eames sighed, rubbing his eyes without minding the oil on his fingers. "You sought me out, Arthur. I know what I want, but you're offering it up to me like I deserve it. I don't, not at this moment. I tried to apologize but it came out crooked, with conditions and reservations. I don't even know what changed your opinion: just hours ago you were insisting that not only could we not work, that even if I made adjustments, if I tried to stay with you, I would get bored or worse, hate it. When did I say that was the case? I don't remember doing so, which means I must have implied it, and I hate myself even more for proceeding to yell at you for it.

"Yet here you are giving me everything I ever wanted. And still I find myself wanting more, to know your doubts, because you shouldn't have to figure everything out by yourself. I shouldn't even be getting the first thing..." He drifted off, parting his hands sadly. "You said you didn't deserve me once. I'm afraid it's the opposite way around."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not offering this to you because you deserve it, I'm asking for this because I want it. Because I've made a lot of mistakes with people and I don't want letting you slip away to be one of them. And you are not going to fucking deny me this because of some stupid fight. You have done so much for me... I have never been so... God, you make feel _alive_ like I'm worth something, and I'm sorry I don't ever say it, but it's because I don't know how to explain it to you, but you... fascinate me and frustrate me and amaze me. You're an asshole, and you're the most genuine fucking person I've ever met, and sometimes it's hard to remember that you're not perfect, because you might as well be. I was wrong. Okay, I told you, I wasn't giving either of us a chance. And I know I can't have everything I want, but if I could just have you--" He shut his mouth with an audible click and almost turned and left. He couldn't do this, not until he gathered himself, but he didn't want Eames to think he was running or changing his mind, so he tried to dial it back, way back, and in a much more even and assured tone, "I'm not looking for what I deserve, I'm going after what I want. Are you going to make us both miserable because you can't see how fucking _incredible_ you are?"

Eames stared again, for long enough that Arthur thought he should say something else, before finally smiling abortively. A sigh and he finally picked up his feet, walking forward, taking careful, measure steps. "Well, when you put it that way, I can't exactly argue. You can have me, I won't fight. Please stay with me on my ship as long as you please. I'm yours and I love you, too, you big bastard." Eames held out his hands, an invitation before faltering. "I would hug you, but I'm afraid I'm not very clean at the moment..."

Arthur hadn't said love. It was way too fucking soon for that. He knew he had some strong feelings towards Eames but he was absolutely not ready to name them 'love.' Eames must have been joking. Perhaps the speech had been a bit much. Arthur reassured himself that was all Eames meant by it. He focused on the tangible, the definitive. The things that were safe to say. "You aren't," Arthur agreed, then moved on, "are you almost done here? Should I go and start packing my things for your place?" 

"I brought the transport this time," Eames nodded to his left. "If you give me a minute to clean up you won't have to take the bus."

Arthur nodded. He would have had to wait a few minutes for the bus, and the transport was a much faster and more comfortable ride. "Is Rook still on schedule?" Arthur asked, since they were here and he needed more normalcy to find his composure. He didn't regret a word of what he said, but he still felt raw and exposed. Eames' physicality and his affection were usually enough to ground him, but since he could have neither he settled for casual conversation to soothe him. Help him find his footing.

There was a part of him that almost couldn't believe how easy it was. That what he said had any real effect on Eames, but he didn't risk questioning it. There were still issues, there would always be issues, but he'd made a stand. And tried to ensure that even though he was still angry and hurt by some of the things Eames had said, Arthur was still willing to be there. To work it out. This had been something he needed to resolve on his own, reacting to Eames wasn't enough. He couldn't be passive in this. 

"She is. The repairs are going fine but the right parts are hard to find for an older model like this. Scrap metal only works for once and trying to cut out something that fits is more trouble than it's worth." Eames headed to one of the closets, taking out a bottle of acetone to pour on his hands. "It's going to be another two weeks more than likely, considering shipping and installation times. The engine is as ready as it will ever be, the thrusters need only a little work. It's the hull that's really taking up the most time, which is what I'd figured."

"Two weeks," Arthur repeated and then swallowed a joke about whether Eames would be able to handle it. He stepped uselessly closer to Eames, they were going to have to head out shortly. "I'm glad it's going well."

"It could be worse, really." Eames wiped his hands on the closest yellow cloth before thrusting his hands under a sink, letting the clean water wash the rest away, taking up a cleaner cloth once he finished. "But since I can't give you the ship right this second, will a futon suffice for a bit?" He pressed a little bit closer, pushing the boundaries of the amount of space between them, but putting his hands behind his back.

He smelled - of acetone and machine oil, sweat and cigarette smoke, but Arthur found he didn't really mind. Arthur had trouble resisting the urge to press further in; the room was empty and at the end of the hall, he didn't mind stepping in the rest of the way. "Yes, a futon will do." And he smiled, a small, tentative thing, but there. He put his hands on Eames' sides and planted a gentle kiss that Eames almost melted into before he pulled away and stepped back. "You're welcome to take a shower in my room, and there should still be some of your clothes." Arthur suggested as Eames, looking far brighter than he had before, lead the way out to the transport.

"Did Ariadne call you at all? Should I feel really bad for not picking up or terrible?" Eames asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"She did. I called her back and told her some of what happened. So, she knows. And I owe her a call explaining how things turned out." He said, glancing down at his lap, slightly worried about how well received that news would be. 

"Oh jeeze." Eames rolled his eyes and straightened his arms, pressing his head against the headrest, more exasperated than anything. "Well... Well, alright, that's fine - considering everything, I don't think she's going to make a big deal out of it." He sighed but settled back down. "And it's not like she didn't know at all. But at least you talked to her, so I don't need to feel too bad for pretty much jilting her calls."

"I didn't give her details." Arthur said, hoping to mitigate the problem, if it was a large enough issue to call it that. "She's doing well by the way, her biggest concern is getting back in school and signing up for classes." And Arthur was glad for that, glad she was able to return to a mostly normal life. She'd grown rounder in the face, less gaunt, and she seemed happier. She'd made the most of Black Rock, adapted to it well, but Arthur thought she seemed significantly happier to be home. "We don't have to tell her we worked it out." Arthur added.

"Considering you owe her a call that is, one, unfeasible and two, don't you think you owe her more than that? I know I do, so far it be for me to insist you keep it a secret." Eames shrugged, leaning forward to check before he turned. "But good for her, getting her life on track: everyone else can only hope to do the same. All things considered, we really lucked out. Rook could have died and that would have been it."

Arthur lightly brushed Eames' thigh with the knuckles of his free hand, the other was still holding the pad against his lap. "We repaired her quite well under the circumstances. Of course if you had bought the defragmentor when you were supposed to..." he said, the first part gentle and the last with dry humor. Arthur sincerely doubted it was a common occurrence, and if he went with Eames it was twice as unlikely to ever happen again. "As for Ariadne, I only meant I was willing to lie about it. I never said it was my first choice. We'll call her later." He decided.

"You know, had your gunmen come just fifteen minutes later, I would have had it," Eames raised his eyebrows then chuckled. "A lie that would fall through as soon as I appeared on camera even in the slightest. Frankly, it's too much effort, even if you or I wanted it."

"You could just leave the room," Arthur suggested, though he was far from passionately arguing against telling her. It felt like coming full circle. Which brought something else to mind. "Kinsley's going to be here three days from now, do you want to come with me to meet her?" He asked, drawing his hand back at last.

"And then you'd have to make a sad face and say I hate you forever, which in turn means she'll call me to yell at me and I still have yet to pick up. Double bad." Another laugh. "But yeah sure, if you want me there. Who is she, by the way, you never did say."

"We went through basic together, and stayed in touch. She's the one who," and Arthur hesitated unsure if he'd actually told Eames or if he'd only implied it, he felt he'd told Eames nearly everything at this point, "pulled two guys that jumped me one night off. We went on a few ops together, but she ended up losing both her legs to a land mine and was honorably discharged about a year before the end." Arthur had donated better prosthetics to her, set up funds for her kids when he found out about them, but hadn't made contact since the end of the war. He'd been worried she wouldn't want to see him, but there had never been a doubt that she would help him.

"It's no wonder you have a code then and that she was surprised you remember all of it." For all Arthur professed that he didn't have anyone, clearly there were people who considered him their friend. "I would definitely want to meet her then," Eames nodded, carefully turning in to the lots of the inn. "And here we are. What time is it, that there are still people milling about? Since eight in the morning, jeeze..."

"Seven," Arthur corrected, they'd woken at six and lounged in bed for a little less than an hour. Which only made the turnout that much more impressive. He began to wonder how long Fey had been gone, and where she has been. He'd assumed school, but he hadn't asked. But he flipped open the pad to check the time. "It's almost eighteen hundred," he said, "did you eat?"

"Uh, no, actually," Eames said sheepishly. "But I bet you there are leftovers." He parked, throwing open the door. "Sneaking around won't work this time will it? Hopefully they decided to take a walk somewhere because I really need to shower. And eat as well, both of which are hard to do while talking." 

"You could climb up the fire escape, I'll let you in. That at least gets you in the shower," Arthur cast out as an option. And he decided against reprimanding Eames, he hadn't exactly eaten anything either. It would be more beneficial to simply get themselves fed. He stepped out of the transport and shut the door. "As for eating, it doesn't have to here, we can find somewhere else, but you've never had a problem eating and talking before." He waited to see what Eames decided on before making his way inside.

"But it would take longer. And I'm not going to be able to help you with moving your stuff. I can probably only extricate myself by twenty one hundred if I don't want to be rude. Fire escape it is. Hopefully I don't get caught or I'll have to make something up about cats again." Eames sighed but waved to Arthur that he was ready before making his way around the building and trying to make as little noise as possible, placing his weight carefully on the metal.

Arthur made it quick, he had no ties to anyone present and they were invested enough in conversation to let him pass without notice. He hurried inside and put the pad up to beat Eames to the window and pry it open. He smiled as he watched Eames climb up, remembering the earlier joke about a torrid affair. 

Eames grinned as he finally hoisted himself level with the window, leaning forward to quickly press his lips against Arthur's. "See, it's all better," he gestured to his shoulder as soon as he was through. "Do you need help packing or should I hurry up and shower because you'll be ready presently?"

"Shower," Arthur answered quickly and stole a kiss of his own, but the thought they had all the time in the world slowed it from a peck to a soft, lingering exchange. Eating remained a high priority, however, and he did break the kiss. "I can handle packing." He said and stepped away so Eames could actually get to the shower and Arthur could keep his hands to himself. 

Eames whined but went into the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went.

Arthur forced himself to concentrate on packing everything as quickly as possible. The fact he had returned everything to it's neat order sped the process along, but his tendency to hoard did not. He wondered if leaving some of it with Florence was acceptable, surely an inn went through a decent amount of toiletries. Not that he would be able to part with all of it, but at least what he couldn't pack away into the boxes he had kept and the duffels he'd purchased. A part of him hoped Eames took a long shower; Eames had proven he wouldn't mock or pity him, but Arthur still wasn't wholly comfortable with his tendency on display. If it could go unacknowledged, that was ideal, and he worked steadily on to stow away the soaps and packages of disposable razors he hadn't had room for under the sink. 

"You didn't pack the extra clothes, did you?" Eames had finished showering and padded out, still drying his hair.

"On the bed," Arthur said as he zipped the bag and straightened to point them out, folded neatly by the pillows and blended in. There were a pair of pants, boxers, an undershirt and a button up in muted colors in a small pile, Arthur tossed a pair of black socks on top and finally faced Eames. Naked and healthy. It was difficult not to stare in that blend of affection and lust Arthur hadn't found a name for, but he cleared his throat and refocused himself. "Do you, ah, still have my bag?"

"It's back at the house. I had stopped by to change and pick up the transport and left it there. You've been busy acquiring new bags, so I'd figured you wouldn't miss it."

"They're useful," he defended, though he recognized that Eames was by no means attacking. When he'd been on patrols, everyone had emergency bags packed with essentials in the case of a raid. He hadn't snapped far enough that he'd started that again, but he knew he'd need more bags for the other things he'd acquired. And he didn't need the rucksack, he just could have fit more supplies. "But I guess I'm packed. I can leave the rest for Florence." It was fine. He had more than enough soaps, there would be some at Eames' house, he could buy more. But it still had him itching beneath his skin.

"Clearly they're useful. And I'm sure Florence won't mind. There are worse things you could leave and here are only so many bags I can climb down with without causing a ruckus."

"No," Arthur rejected automatically. "You are not carrying my stuff." Most of it wasn't of actual need, the clothing yes, a normal amount of toiletries, certainly, but an unfair amount of it was bottles and bars of hygiene products which were heavier than clothing anyway. He wouldn't ask Eames to carry them, they were his problem. Especially not down such a narrow ladder on a shoulder that couldn't have been as healed as Eames claimed. With that, Arthur stooped to collect his things. It would take two, possibly three trips if Arthur planned it right.

"Yes I am. Come on, I'll be sitting bored in the transport otherwise. Just give me the lightest things, if it bothers you that much." Eames hoisted up one of the bags Arthur didn't touch. "It's not that heavy, I can handle it. It will save you a trip and I'm hungry."

Arthur still frowned, but he couldn't argue. He sniffed, repressing a sneeze and sorted through to find the lightest bag. "Switch," he ordered, gesturing for Eames to put the one he had down and loop this bag over his good shoulder. It was socks and undergarments only, and it would at least drop his trips down to two. "I have the rest, you can load it in while I check out." That was as much as Arthur was willing to concede.

A put upon sigh but Eames nodded, taking up the bag Arthur gave him instead. "Right, fine, meet you downstairs." He ducked out the window.

Arthur relocked the window before he loaded himself up, carrying as much as he safely could downstairs and dropping the bags off beside the transport with the assumption Eames wasn't far behind. He went back in for the rest and brought them outside as well, and then he went in a final time to undergo the process of turning in his access pass and saying his goodbyes to Florence and Fey. There were motherly reminders to eat, and comments about how much brighter he seemed compared to the previous week, but he was finally able to excuse himself by adding that his ride was waiting for him and he made his exit.

The trip to the diner was uneventful and they talked about Rook and Eames' father, and by the time they sat down the conversation shifted to Morgan, who apparently didn't talk to Eames senior, even if he talked to everyone else. Eames hadn't been kidding about his willingness to converse or the baking, for that matter, Arthur knew now. And the jealousy was still there. The image of Eames laughing in the kitchen, covered in batter being licked off by Morgan flashed unbidden. It was enough to make him equal parts sad and angry, though it was absolutely ridiculous and unreasonable. But even if it wasn't feasible, was Arthur still a second choice? If Eames had wanted kids, or Morgan hadn't... would Eames have been happier than he ever could with Arthur?

He quickly changed the topic to food after that and while it was somewhat subpar, they ended up tasting each other's entries and laughing about it and giving each other obnoxious improvement suggestions. Arthur wasn't sure he'd ever be over Eames' laugh, or his smile, and he wasn't even aware of the smile, soft and fond, spreading across his own features in return. It warmed Arthur to the core every time he managed to elicit the response. "Great," he said automatically when the waitress asked about their food and she scurried off to the next table while he stared at his bowl, a little surprised at his own enthusiasm. He cleared his throat. "Just shut up and eat your mush," he tossed out before Eames could say anything, but it was lacking in venom and probably veered closer to petulant than angry.

"Maybe I will," Eames grinned, stretching his legs out under the table, encroaching into Arthur's space.

Arthur couldn't manage stern, but made an attempt anyway as he looked up. It was Eames though, grinning and being a jackass while invading Arthur's personal boundaries. And he'd won him back. Well, perhaps won wasn't the most appropriate word, but Arthur _felt_ as though he'd won. And Arthur wasn't sure if he should thank luck or skill, but he was leaning towards luck. 

"Are we ready for the check?" Arthur asked, focusing on the here and now instead of the appallingly sentimental turn his thoughts had taken. The diner wasn't even a romantic setting. Maybe he should ask Eames about a thermometer, he must have come down with a fever.

"Yes," Eames agreed and when it was brought Arthur paid for the whole of it, leaving a generous tip. Because this was a date.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this now and then going through and editing it because otherwise I am going to be late/stay up late and feel terrible. Caution, watch out for: POV slides, grammar mistaken more than usual, tmi.

"Consider it thanks for letting me stay with you," Arthur said as their waitress swooped in to collect the money, standing to leave as soon as she was gone.

Eames rolled his eyes but stood as well, heading out. He could name at least a dozen other things that could be taken as thanks for letting Arthur stay but instead he decided to take it all too literally. He was in a good mood, after all. "So I'm going to have to pay you back for every chore you do? I see this spiraling fairly quickly and I already have debts for Rook." Then, once they were outside: "And sex, how am I supposed to afford that? All I can do is make food once in a while."

"See, I thought the sex was part of me moving in," Arthur said casually. "That's really what I was paying for, all the calories you're going to need." He smiled slyly. "But if sex doesn't come standard, I'd like to renegotiate terms."

"What, no - that's either too little or too cumbersome. Either it's one meal for sex forever or you'd have to come up with something else each time. Which is going to be hard in the middle of empty space when we do set off." Eames shook his head and held out his hand for the keys. "It doesn't work in either case - guess we will have to either renegotiate or else pool our resources."

Arthur forfeited the keys after unlocking the doors and seated himself. "Fine," he agreed easily, "how does every time I have sex with you, you have sex with me sound?"

"Hmmm, I don't know, what's in it for me?" Eames asked in mock seriousness, lowering his voice thoughtfully. They had reached a peak of ridiculousness in the conversation from which there was no turning back. He started the car, instead, pulling out easily from the driveway and starting on the route home. "Not to mention communal bed space isn't exactly a pro in itself."

"You're right. I suppose we should create a monthly, perhaps even quarterly, schedule and keep to separate rooms. Though if you aren't interested, I can take this deal elsewhere," Arthur continued, his tone feigned concern, "I wouldn't want to ask you to do something you don't see a benefit in doing."

Eames did burst out laughing this time, accidentally pulling the wheel too much to the left, causing them to swerve slightly before he straightened them out. "Okay, maybe we should leave this conversation until I'm not putting us in peril," he said amid giggles, trying to regain his composure.

Arthur smiled and rolled his eyes, letting loose another yawn. "Should have let me drive," he commented.

Eames focused on the road again, letting out a sigh as he finally stopped laughing. "And then you'd fall asleep and we really would crash and die. Take a bit if you'd like, or if you prefer you can try and memorize the route - not that you need to anymore."

"Are you going to lock me inside the house?"

"Yes. In that basement we don't have. I mean, you don't need the route to the inn, do you? The diner is a bit far for walking. I can draw you out a map of things within walking distance otherwise, or actually give you a map with marks on it. Easier than trying to remember this mess."

"A map would be good," Arthur said. "And I don't mind a walk."

"Well, hey, you might get hired and then you won't get to do any walking." Eames shrugged, turning carefully. The streets were busy with people enjoying the nice weather again even though it was late. "We'll see though."

"I don't know, could you handle being my boss?" Arthur asked, teasing dryly, "Should I get the forms for sexual harassment now or should I wait?"

"Forms, what forms? It's a family owned business, who are you planning on submitting those to?" If he thought about it, the only real option was leaving if the problem couldn't be solved civilly. It wasn't as if they had an HR department.

Arthur stared incredulously. "You do realize one of the only reasons companies and businesses handle issues internally is to prevent the information from becoming public and to prevent lawsuits. Small business doesn't mean you're exempt from federal or local law. Those forms are protection for the company, not the employee. The fact that your father runs the business actually makes it worse for you if it were ever brought to court. You should look into having some means of handling disputes, even if it hasn't been a problem, you don't want to wait until there is one."

"For all I know, there is some sort of thing that solves problems but I don't know about, never needed it or heard of it. Considering my dad isn't the easiest man to get along with, I suppose we do have something." Eames shrugged. "I just come in, do work, order people around sometimes and count inventory when I can't do any of the above. Don't even flirt except for this one time but we don't speak of that one time." Out of all the ways to come out to your family that really was a strange and unpleasant one.

"And how long ago was that?" Arthur asked, missing the mark on casual and sounding all too interested.

"Around..." Eames tried to count mentally, trying to remember what else had happened at the time so he could estimate his own age. "Around when I was seventeen or eighteen. So thirteen years ago or so. Why? Are you working on a list?"

Arthur settled at that. Did he think it had been during the week they hadn't seen each other? "No," he answered, "I'm not working on a list. Are you seriously not going to tell me what happened?"

"I'd rather not, unless you really want to know, are absolutely _dying_ to know in fact." Eames paused as Arthur looked at him expectantly. "Fine. Consider: you're at work, trying to do your job. A wee teenager comes up to you and starts flirting which, at eighteen, is not so smooth as he thinks. At least he didn't know I was the son of the boss, that would have been worse. He might have tried to be polite." Eames shook his head, trying to get rid of the memory. It really was embarrassing, especially in retrospect. To their credit, both his parents had actually laughed, so pitiful were his attempts, but it felt like the worst thing that could have happened.

Arthur laughed and then he put a hand on Eames' thigh and squeezed reassuringly. "I'm glad he turned you down," he said. "His loss is my gain," he added smugly.

"Not funny," Eames pouted, still more amused by Arthur's laughter than by that of his parents, still colored with childish hurt. That only made Arthur laugh again. "And I don't know about that, he might as well have died of alcoholism by now." There was a lot of drinking on the job as far as Eames remembered, something that ended up getting the man fired. Other than that, he could barely even remember his name.

"That's too bad."

"Not exactly uncommon. But enough of that, here we are..." Eames pulled into the driveway, shutting off the engine quickly and getting out. "We have a whole room to set up, let's get cracking or else we'll really be up all night."

Arthur ducked out quietly and grabbed the first duffel from the back.

They moved in quickly and his father didn't cause much trouble, gracefully accepting the fact that Arthur was moving in. The clean loft must have been a giveaway. His father was even polite and stated he was glad Arthur had come which... Was strange. Eames couldn't place it. It wasn't bad though, so he let it slide.

They kept their things in the duffles for the time being, deciding to move drawers at some other time. Neither of them were up to disassembling and then reassembling drawers just to be neat, at least Eames wasn't and Arthur didn't complain. The last thing was showing Arthur the amenities and Eames made sure to point out the outdoor bathhouse. Arthur should know there were two so he didn't feel guilty for taking as much time as he needed.

Arthur gave the bathroom a cursory look then stepped inside to kiss Eames, softly and earnestly, hands coming up to cup Eames' face after he dropped his things on the counter. Eames could only lean into the kiss, closing his eyes and resting his arm around Arthur's waist. He supposed he'd done something good - certainly Arthur would be more grateful than others for the knowledge but when it came to sharing a shower with two or more other people, patience ran out fairly quickly. Arthur pulled away and Eames let him, yawning and heading for the toilet. He hadn't been kicked out so he might as well hurry it up so they could get to bed sooner.

When he turned, Arthur had wandered out. Eames ended up commandeering the bathroom. A sigh and Eames tried to hurry up with brushing his teeth, drying his face as he stepped out, leaving the door open for Arthur to use and heading towards bed. He'd wait up as much as he could.

Arthur slipped up soon, grabbing the pad as he headed towards the bed, and Eames closed his eyes as soon as Arthur set and alarm, tucking his arms around Arthur's waist, Arthur's words drifting up unwittingly in his mind. Incredible and genuine... He was going to live up to that.

But the dreamless sleep was interrupted by the sharp pain in the dead center of his forehead. Eames blinked rapidly, propping himself half up on his elbow, still on his side, facing Arthur. Arthur must have had another nightmare - a theory that proved true when there was a soft wheeze from his side, what little light seeped through the curtained windows outlining Arthur on his back near by.

Eames sighed softly. At the very least it had happened next to him, not at the inn some miles away where he couldn't even know, let alone help. They were still somewhat intertwined and Eames loosened his grip to give Arthur some space but kept his hand lightly on Arthur's chest, stroking gently. "Another nightmare?" he stated more than asked quietly, hovering carefully at Arthur's side. "Do you need me to go get you anything?"

"No," Arthur answered, catching his breath some. "I need a shower," he said, as he walked across the room to find a change of clothes. "I'll wake you," he promised.

There was a little bit of petulance wanting to show itself - that he didn't want to sleep without Arthur, simply on principle, but at the same time he knew he wasn't going to have an easy time falling asleep in reality. He sat up, rubbing his forehead where Arthur must have knocked into him. It was still too early. When the water started he put on some trousers and climbed down as well, working on stretching out his shoulder as soon as his feet touched the floor.

Arthur emerged from the bathroom minutes later, looking far too tense for someone who had just had a hot shower. "Are you going to be down here a while?"

"Probably. Do you want me to leave?" Eames stood, slightly thrown. It shouldn't have really, but after a night of... It shouldn't even hurt, that Arthur was cautious around him, and since the beach it was only reasonable. Yet. Arthur had already told him about his nightmare, why did his behaviour have to change now? Incredible and genuine... "I... Have to make lunch. And breakfast as well. Carry on." He waved shortly, trying not to slouch as he walked to the kitchen.

Between gathering everything he needed and starting on chopping salad, Arthur had already come down from the loft where he'd been talking to someone on the pad. Eames could hear that much. He tracked his footsteps without turning around but was surprised when Arthur pressed his forehead to the back of Eames' neck, his arms sliding around Eames' ribs.

"I... I took your advice. About controlling the dream. It... I shot Mal." Arthur squeezed and pressed in tightly, sounding sadder than he ought to be.

He was honestly surprised by the confession although it did settle him somewhat. If Arthur had lost a little bit of faith in him he would just have to earn it back, no matter how much he would need to do. It was his fault firstly and being upset by it wouldn't fix it at all. Eames put down the knife, placing his hand on top of Arthur's. He'd been selfish. Arthur wanted to talk to him but not right then maybe.

"At least someone listens to my advice," he smiled slightly. Arthur had managed what he still couldn't, hiding from it all still. It was easier for Eames, it didn't plague him if someone was near. "I'm glad you were able to, hopefully you'll have the chance to move on from it all." The food could wait until they talked and they had far more time than he needed. "Maybe they'll go away in the end, the dreams I mean."

Arthur rested his chin on top of Eames' shoulder. "I'm more concerned about the ache in the back of my skull. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine - oh, well, I can't say if I'll have a bruise or not, I haven't looked in any mirrors but it doesn't hurt anymore." Eames lifted his free hand to touch his forehead. "You were talking... To Kingsley I assume?" But still he couldn't help coming back to the topic, trying to figure out why Arthur wouldn't speak to him about it in the first place and what it would take to get that trust back. Because he was jealous, goddammit, and still feeling selfish. He was right there and Arthur chosen someone else to rely on, someone who was light years away still. There had to be something he could do to prove he wouldn't behave the way he did on the beach again.

"Kinsley," Arthur corrected, "Renate. Did you hear me?" And there was the unconscious stiffening again.

"Unless you're schizophrenic, I figured you were on the pad talking to somebody. I didn't hear what you said, if that's what you're worried about." Eames sighed and pursed his lips, trying to think of a less needy way to put it. "I understand that you don't trust me fully at the moment - you have all rights to do that. I was wondering what I could do to get that trust back."

Arthur moved back, defensive. "I'm trying," he said, already working on anger, "why do you think I said anything at all? Do you want me to draw you a fucking picture of what happened? Should I write it in a dream journal for you?" he added, even more snide. "Fuck off."

"No, no, no, that's absolutely not what I meant," Eames turned, put the knife down and followed quickly, trying to cut Arthur off from the exit before he managed to run off. "Are you saying... If you wanted some time, or to talk to someone else it's alright, I just wanted to know if there was some way to make it up to you. To make it easier, if it's my fault." How did all of this always go astray so easily? He should just keep quiet the next time something bothered him and the next and maybe then they wouldn't be having argument after argument.

"So do you understand, or do you not? Because it sounds like you don't." Arthur fired back. "Do you just want me to say it's my fault? Is that what you want to hear? Is that what I need to say to get you to drop this? Because big fucking surprise. It's Arthur's fault, and you're a fucking saint. Are we done now?"

"It's my fault, alright? I'm sorry, I acted cruelly. I just..." Eames sighed, running a hand through his hair, stopping. So many mixed signals he didn't know what to do with. Arthur sought him out yet turned from him - he hadn't even asked Arthur to tell him everything that happened in the nightmare, yet that was what Arthur had assumed. "I just wanted to help or fix it and if that's not possible..." He parted his hands in a shrugging motion. "I'll leave you be, go back to my cutting board." He'd thought he'd made it clear he hadn't minded Arthur talking to someone else, either, he'd just wanted... Well, what he wanted didn't really matter.

"I don't have a handbook. I told you, I'm trying, and it's nothing short of obnoxious that you would ask me if it was your fault and then apologize as if you knew. Which is it?" Arthur said, tensing even further like it was going to help him regain composure.

Eames lowered his voice, crossing his arms and looking slightly down, frowning at the floor. "You don't need to try, not in this case, it isn't your fault and I don't know why you keep saying that you're trying. I just want to know what it is I can do to make it better. Words don't satisfy you, that's understandable, but I don't even know what to do otherwise. And I'm trying to find out if I should leave you be, give you time, or actively try to do something and you won't tell me that either. I don't even know why you're angry right now. If you're angry because of something that had happened before then why did you pull me back, make me believe that everything was okay and then push away again? It doesn't make sense. Stay angry! I'm the one who upset you, you don't owe me any trying."

"What, do you think I'm waiting on you to go through the proper steps? I'm trying to trust you, but I can't. I don't know how to fix it, and it's ridiculous that you're acting like I'm purposely holding back this information. Me not telling you about a nightmare isn't pushing you away. I'm not mad... I'm... " he shook his head. "I'm just sorry I don't want to open up anymore. And if you were fine with it, with the fact I was talking to someone else, you wouldn't have looked as hurt as you did. You wouldn't be asking me questions that I can't possibly answer. Clearly this is bothering you, and I have been down this road too many times..."

He didn't know either. "I am truly sorry I lashed out, Arthur," Eames took half a step back, keeping his head down. It did hurt him but only because he really had thought everything was fine. "I really am fine that you're talking to someone else and, while I want you to trust me, I get that it's not possible." He'd been down this road too many times as well, always losing trust, and if it wasn't outright lying this time, it didn't make a difference. "Just do what you think is best for you, take your time. I'll go, I do have a lunch to make." He bowed his head a bit lower, trying not to show hurt.

"Eames," Arthur said, sounding more guilty than angry now, "I am doing what's best for me: I'm trying. And even when I was angry and hurt and scared, I still knew I wanted you. You're a risk I'm willing to take, and right now I'm minding my footing. I don't do whirlwind romances, and that's not your fault. It's... not mine either. It's just... it's an issue. Could you have, just, a little faith in me?"

It was a little like they were speaking two different languages, both blaming themselves and helping neither of the other. And it was hard to have faith in Arthur if he barely trusted himself. But at the same time, how could he ask Arthur to trust him if he didn't believe in himself? It made little sense. Watching Arthur trying to force himself to trust Eames was difficult on top of it all and they were at a stand still.

"In the nightmare..." Arthur continued before Eames could put his foot in his mouth again, "I was back on the ship and Mal was asking me to join her. She dragged your unconscious body over and handed me a knife, she wanted me to... cut you open. And Dom, they said, they said they missed me. She took my hand and tried to help me do it... but then you told me to change the dream. I... I tried to shoot myself, but you reminded me that I promised I wouldn't kill myself. So I shot Mal."

The dream still sounded horrid as usual and his role as an almost cadaver was probably worsening it all. In fact, his own dream, devoid of any such vivid and violent content seemed like it should be child's play, if it didn't inspire such numbing fear every time. He hadn't wanted to know all that badly but... "Thank you for telling me," Eames looked up this time, hesitantly opening his palms, not quite reaching out because he didn't want to be refused, but hoping Arthur would catch the idea regardless.

Arthur didn't, it was too subtle, and Eames watched his face shut down in almost a blink of an eye, from troubled to completely blank. "I... ha-have to go," he warbled, the voice a dead give away if his face displayed nothing, pushing past Eames.

"No - don't," Eames tried to catch Arthur's elbow, instead winding up stepping back into the door jamb as Arthur pushed past him, hissing as his already abused head collided with the frame, much more painfully than Arthur startling at night, the rest of the wood digging into his back. Still, he pressed forward, catching Arthur's wrist with his own elbow twisted uncomfortably, the circle of fingers easily broken, but pulling slightly back anyway. "Arthur, I do trust you and by 所有的都適當 do I have faith in you. It's just hard for me to accept the same when I expect myself to ruin it within minutes because I said too much or too little. Why do you think it didn't work out with Morgan? Yet I want it, I want your trust more than anything, and when I lose it I expect you to make me work to get it back because that's what I'm used to while seeing you try to break through it on your own only confuses me and I still look for something I should be doing." They were navigating a minefield of issues on either side it seemed and while Arthur tried to accept his, Eames had highhandedly decided he was long over his own and was now paying for it.

Arthur went still. "And I'm used to people giving up," he said, much calmer and he shifted so he could face Eames. He offered a brittle smile, "Guess we're both idiots. It's just that when you do that, it feels like I'm giving you an inch and you're asking for a mile. And I can't give you a mile yet, but you deserve it. I know, logically, that you were angry and hurt, and I know, that I've said much worse to you and I made up my mind to forgive you long before I spoke to you and you gave me one of the worst apologies I've heard," he laughed, trying to show he wasn't quite as affected by it, "All because I knew you would beat yourself up over it. It's just taking me a while to forget."

"I _am_ sorry. I could get down on my knees and beg but I think you'd find that too dramatic." He had been trying to push his own side of things for once, then, now, and it hadn't been what Arthur needed or was ready for, especially not that cruelly. He'd discarded pity for vitriol, thinking those were his only options where understanding would have done much better than both. If he was going to dismiss his problems, he should weather it out like it was true and not let his heart sink as Arthur laughed that he would beat himself up over it. Because he had and he still was and he couldn't help it, no matter how supposedly stupid it was. "We are both idiots and I'm not even sure why you say I deserve your mile when a millimeter would suit me far more. Please come here." He tugged on Arthur's wrist again, hoping he would come this time even as the pounding in his head got marginally worse.

Arthur went easily, stepping into Eames' space and making himself comfortable there. "Don't start," Arthur warned, "or am I really going to have to repeat myself and explain that this isn't about what we do and do not deserve. For all the shit we've been through the fucking 'Verse owes us one. But you do deserve it, okay, we had a fight and it's been a long time since I've let someone close enough to hurt. It's... there's a learning curve," he said, putting his hands on Eames' sides.

"Not starting. Consider it dropped." Eames pressed his hands to Arthur's shoulders, sliding them back and down to his shoulder blades to push him just that little bit closer. And he had to talk now, just simple, quiet acceptance didn't work so well. "I'll wait until you're through that curve, I swear I will. It's just that..." He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to find the right words. "Right now I have to admit to myself that I also have issues, even though before I had thought myself completely under control. So even if I whine or complain or accidentally say something I don't mean, I will still be there for you, I swear, and I will work on getting myself back under control. Not that I don't expect you to be upset but please at least understand and believe that, forgive me if you can."

"I do forgive you," Arthur said in earnest, "I know it wasn't what you meant. I know it was just because we were fighting. I wouldn't have come back if I didn't believe that. It's why I'm trying and not throwing everything away and calling it hopeless." He nestled in, closing his eyes and resting his chin on Eames' good shoulder again. "And I know you're going to be here," he laughed a little self-deprecating, "finally figured that part out. We're both here."

"We are." Eames ducked his head, pressing his lips into Arthur's neck and tightening his hands around Arthur's shoulders, content to stay that way for a good while yet. "Do you think I can convince my dad there's something pressing I need to stay home for today? I could really use, well, a cuddle, to be simple. It's really important, you see. Tomorrow might just not come without it." He smiled into skin, eyes still closed lightly.

Arthur snorted. "I'm feeling pretty sick," he said in feigned misery, "and I'm sure you've caught it by now."

"Oh, that brings me back. Last time I faked sick was in middle school, before I learned to simply skip out. And I hit my head fairly hard, I think I might _just_ take the day off." It would be the second day he would have not been reporting to work but his father had been in a good mood last night. Perhaps it would work.

Arthur looked horrified. "I am so sorry," he said, "do you want me to take a look at it?" He pulled away and dragged Eames over to the table without waiting for an answer.

"I'm fine, it can't be more than a bruise." He couldn't remember his vision blacking out or anything that would make the injury anything more than a bruise. Although, the room swam just a bit as his head changed elevation when he sat. It could have just as easily been nothing however.

"Jesus," Arthur whispered, disgusted, then: "follow my finger, just your eyes."

"I'm not concussed," Eames frowned, but followed obediently, lines deepening as he noticed a little bit of delay. "Looks like we don't even have to manufacture a reason for a lie in. There's no way I can drive like this or work with details." He smiled this time. "Lucky, that. There's no need to worry, it'll go away all too soon, no doubt."

"I'll get some ice," Arthur said, practical, as he left Eames in the chair and headed for the fridge. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"Nope-!" Eames called, raising his voice just to make sure he was heard, before sighing and settling himself into the chair to be waited on. It wasn't like he had any other choice, with Arthur this insistent. If anything, his back hurt more where'd jammed it against the door but he wasn't going to argue with the dizziness and delay. It would be more convincing, he supposed.

Arthur gently pressed towel wrapped ice to the back of Eames head. "So much for your father liking me," Arthur tried to joke even as it fell flat, a guilty look still on his face.

"Oh please," Eames gestured instead of shaking his head. "Watch, if we don't tell him how I got it, it'll be my clumsiness that is at fault and I don't recall being particularly clumsy." He took up Arthur's free hand instead, smiling once more. "Don't even have to pretend sick to stay in bed with you. I'd say it really is something more lucky than not, something long enough to last until he leaves at the very least. Would have killed for that sort of thing as a child."

"Not lucky," Arthur insisted, "I shoved you so hard... Eames that is far from okay." He kept the ice pack steady but tugged his hand from Eames'.

"It was an accident," Eames said, sterner this time. Apparently it was more of a concern to Arthur than it was to him and should Eames take over holding the ice pack, Arthur was liable to move away. "You were trying to get away, not hurt me specifically, that makes it regrettable but not terrible. I wouldn't have even mentioned it if I didn't need some excuse to stay home and the effects are slight. I'm willing to bet there even are any because it's only been a month since the real concussion."

Arthur frowned and searched Eames' face but relaxed. "I'm still sorry," he said softly and pressed a very gentle kiss to Eames' cheek. "Won't happen again."

"It's fine and I would hope not." Eames smiled and turned his head, pressing a palm into the back of Arthur's to turn it for a proper kiss. Never mind that his dad could be awake - they would be able to hear him get up, with the sheer amount of noise he made as well as the cane. For now they could stay like this.

Arthur shifted, at first surprised but enthusiastic once he caught on. He kissed back, parting his mouth enough to catch Eames' lower lip and lick at it softly. Quick swipe of his tongue and then he turned the kiss more chaste. He dropped to his knees to make it a little more comfortable, one hand still carefully holding the ice in place.

Eames had thought to simply drag Arthur into his lap but that could turn inappropriate extremely quickly so he leaned forward instead, putting his hands on each side of Arthur's face. This was far more like it and he stroked his thumbs to either side, across Arthur's cheekbones, nipping gently at his upper lip, drawing them closer together.

Arthur broke the kiss with a laugh. "This is definitely one of our most awkward," he laughed again. Then he took one of Eames' hands and placed over the ice pack. "If you don't mind scrambled eggs for breakfast, I'm going to cook."

"I was going to make you an omelet for once," Eames groused, but sat back, eyes twinkling. "I guess I'll have to live with _scrambled eggs_." An exaggerated sigh. "Can I at least finish making the salad I'm in the middle of? I still take responsibility of feeding my dad at the very least and we need lunch in any case."

"No." Arthur said as he started for the kitchen, "I can handle salad. What were you planning for lunch?"

"The salad was for lunch," Eames clarified, standing anyway to wander after Arthur. He'd let Arthur handle it but he would like to be near, just for the sake of it. "There's too much salad now, but I suppose we could have it for lunch with something else. Just only use a portion of the fish I suppose, a third to be precise and we'll have something heartier for ourselves that won't have to cool."

"Is it too much, or do you just want fish to go with it?" Arthur frowned, then turned to check Eames' eyes again.

"No, no, okay, look," Eames resisted to urge to roll his eyes, waving Arthur off - he just hadn't been clear enough, he wasn't starting a route to mental retardation. "Those ingredients are for three portions of salad. Salad because you don't have to heat it up when you take it to work and some for you just in case you'd want it. Since I'm not going to work, only a third of the salad is really needed, for my father and two thirds of the salad don't need fish in it since we can cook something more interesting later on in the day, since half chopped vegetables don't last as long so we might as well eat them. Is that clear enough?"

"Specificity," Arthur said, annoyed.

"Is that even a word? It's going to stop sounding like one soon," Eames complained.

A pause. "You were going to make my lunch, even though I was staying here?" Eames didn't answer and Arthur seemed to reach some conclusion on his own and dropped a kiss to Eames' lips.

Eames followed Arthur as he moved away but didn't stand, letting Arthur work. "I didn't see why I shouldn't make life easier for you,"; he said eventually. "Not to mention that english cucumber is enough for three people if not more." He yawned shortly, readjusting the icepack in his hand. It had began throbbing lightly but he didn't pay it much mind - ice always seemed to have that effect. Arthur smiled to himself as he chopped and Eames watched him, looking away only as he heard a thump from the bedrooms.

"Is that your father?"

"Yeah. Must have over worked himself yesterday since he's up so late. He'll be around in a couple of minutes. I can start on the eggs if you'd let me," Eames prompted, switching the hand that was holding the ice pack to his head and pressing the cold palm to his forehead. He really hopped he wouldn't get a bruise - it was a strange place to have one and it had been far less painful than bumping into the doorframe. A bruise in the center of his forehead would just be unfortunate and unjust.

"Stop," Arthur insisted, "if you want to stay home, you're going to need to play that up."

"Alright, alright," Eames placated, moving a chair so he could sit and slump in it while also facing both the table and Arthur, yawning before going lax and putting a good portion of his weight on the arm propped up on the table. "But then I'm going to complain that I'm hungry and you have to hurry up." He could see his father walking towards the bathroom, making a slow pace. His hip always bothered him worse in the mornings.

Arthur shot him a skeptical look, and then rolled his eyes. "Fine, pack up the salad for me," he said, moving to pull out a pan.

Eames was up almost instantaneously, balancing the ice pack on his head and ignoring the lightheadedness that followed. This at least was easy enough to accomplish and required knowing where the bento boxes were, although they weren't that hard to find.

Everything was ready by the time Eames' father made it into the kitchen. "Arthur's made us eggs," Eames said cheerfully from his place back at the table with the icepack.

"Did he- What happened to you?" Eames was almost surprised to notice the small note of concern.

"Hit my head really heard this morning, climbing down the ladder. Sorry," he shrugged once, watching his father frown and begin to sit. "I don't think I'll be much use at the shop today." That earned him a sigh and a deeper frown but nothing more. "And we've made you lunch."

"Do you have enough help at the shop?" Arthur asked, sitting down to pick at his food.

"We'll manage. How do you manage to be so useless all the gorramn time?" Eames sighed. No less than he was expecting.

"Your genetics, by the way, or maybe the house is after us."

"You will finally be able to work tomorrow, won't you?" Eames sighed once more but nodded, eating with one hand and holding the ice pack with the other.

"It won't be that busy, you know it disrupts things when someone new comes into the shop. I'll come tomorrow, I promise." He smiled lightly, watching his father shake his head. Nothing new there.

"It was my fault," Arthur interrupted, "your son isn't useless. He wanted to make breakfast, but I took over."

The meal proceeded in relative peace and silence after that, the argument most likely tempered by Arthur's presence if not his statement. At the very least Eames wasn't hungry anymore and the throbbing receded somewhat from the back of his head. At least the bruises on his back were proof he really had hit himself and wasn't just holding an ice pack to his head. His father made a disgruntled call to the same assistant that drove him before, electing to wait outside after grabbing the lunch and leaving them to wash the dishes. Eames shrugged, discarding the melted ice pack. "Well, now that's over."

"Do you need more ice?" Arthur asked from the sink where he had already begun washing.

"No, it's fine. I'll need my hands to help you dry and it's stopped hurting so much by now." Eames grabbed the rest of the plates, standing right near, taking out the towel. "Unless you'll deny me this, too?"

"It would ease my conscious if you went upstairs and laid down, I promise I'll be up there in a few minutes and we can... cuddle."

A put upon sigh. But it was just a couple of plates and forks. Eames put the towel down, pressing Arthur to the sink briefly. "I'll wait,' he smiled, pressing his forehead into Arthur's shoulder shortly. Arthur turned, smiling, nosing lightly into Eames' hair before Eames moved off. He could use a good lie down and the skylights needed to be opened.

It really was much nicer with the windows open and Eames propped his elbows on the roof, looking out. Breezy and it didn't look like it was going to rain - a bad thing for harvest but a stroke of luck that let them keep the windows open. The fresh air made the itchiness of nicotine fade as well. He really shouldn't have smoked the day before but he'd found an old pack and lighter in his shirt and... He turned his head as Arthur clambered up, glass of water in tow. "Nice weather out, it's just too bad I plan to stay inside."

Arthur picked up the glass and padded over to the futon, pausing only to set the glass on the boxes being used as a makeshift nightstand until they moved one in, then climbed into bed. "How do you want to do this? Sitting up, lying down?" he asked, uncertain.

"Would you like a map, too?" Eames chuckled, returning to the bed to discard the blanket for now and plop down, aiming so he could pull Arthur halfway on top of him, one knee sliding between Arthur's. Arthur immediately turned pliant, allowing Eames to move him as he pleased, only offering resistance when he was put off balance. This wasn't as comfortable as if he could take his trousers off, but that could wait. It was far more important to slide his hand under Arthur's shirt and across the skin of his back, turning slightly to his side to get more comfortable. "Here we go. Easy."

"I was trying to be considerate," Arthur said, feigning annoyance as he edged in closer. His spine arched at the contact. His hands landed on Eames' hips and he leaned in for kiss less chaste than the ones shared in the kitchen then shifted against Eames' leg, licking at Eames' lips, his mouth, hips rolling absently.

It really was a regrettable circumstance that he was wearing trousers. At one point last night he was going to joke that the dinner had gone to waste but apparently it was simply delayed slightly, until they had a more convenient time. And today was most convenient. Eames tightened the grip of his arm around Arthur, other hand coming to rest firmly on his hip and slide to the small of his back, pressing it's way lightly under the waist of Arthur's trousers.

Arthur let out a soft, muffled groan and his eyes fluttered open briefly, before they shut once more. His fingers started to dig in, and he shifted again before breaking the kiss, trying to get back under control even though he clearly hard against Eames' thigh.

And Eames would be frankly offended if there was any control to be had here - they had the whole day to cuddle or otherwise. He pushed, pressing his shoulder into Arthur's to roll them a little bit further onto Arthur's side, hand still pressing their hips together, half balancing on the other elbow. If he could just wish away trousers and pants he would - as it was, he really didn't want to let go for long enough to unbutton them, only sliding his hand below Arthur's waistband, fingers angled down and thumb dragging along behind along Arthur's spine and lower.

"Fuck," Arthur gasped, fingers scraping against Eames' skin then pulling at the back of his neck, hastily resuming their kiss.

"Fairly accurate," Eames managed huskily between the kisses, pressing forward still to dip his fingers and drag across a soft section of inner thing, then back up to squeeze and part, shivering as Arthur clung to him and wondering uselessly if he could just summon everything they needed. Letting go was out of the question, he was enjoying his slow toying far too much.

Arthur moaned, breathless, then detached a hand from Eames' hip to unlace the knot of Eames' sweatpants and slip a hand inside. Ah- Damn, there was no way he could keep slow like this. Eames bucked his hips into Arthur's hand, into the firm press of his palm and fingers, trying in vain to school his breathing into something more normal, ducking his head to bite Arthur's ear, sucking on the lobe as he pulled on the waistband of Arthur's pants with his free hand.

Arthur chuckled, low and graveled and absolutely smug as Eames thrust. The laugh gave way to a soft hiss as Eames returned the favor, and he was back to desperate and greedy, his hand on Eames turning clumsy and sloppy as he stroked. Arthur dragged Eames further over, lying on his back as the hand on Eames' neck ventured back down to tug his trousers down and eventually off.

Eames ducked in to kiss Arthur again after he kicked off his trousers, cutting off rather delectable noises with his lips, squirming as they bumped hands, clumsy yet so good. Separating after a moment, he lifted off, tugging Arthur's pants and trousers down enough so he could kneel between his knees, running his tongue up from base to tip of hot flesh, suckling lightly.

Arthur whimpered, fingers gripping the sheets. "Jesus fucking Christ, Eames, you're the _worst_." The words threatened to crash into each other as he exhaled them. He lifted his hips silently begging for Eames to take more of him, all of him.

"And you're impatient," Eames murmured fondly into hot skin, tongue darting out to taste the tip before he closed his lips around the head, pushing down to take as much as he could, fingers picking up the rest. It was magical the way this made Arthur fall apart, he mused, pulling the cloth completely off Arthur's legs while he had the chance, sucking hard.

"You're the one..." Arthur panted, "with... your mouth." A growl. "Shut up,"

Eames managed a smile, dragging his tongue up Arthur's length and looking up, enjoying watching Arthur squirm. That was probably enough unless he really wanted to make Arthur break although... Why not? He pushed his head lower, opening his throat and taking himself in hand, sucking long and hard before swirling his tongue.

It didn't take long. Eames swallowed and released Arthur, placing wet kisses on his lower stomach and nibbling on his hip bones shortly, still stroking his own erection languidly. "There we go, perfect," he half panted, balancing on his elbow to let his free hand stroke Arthur's thigh, already curiously satisfied even with the insistent heat pressing into his palm. He'd get there eventually.

"Give me a minute," Arthur said, like Eames was expecting something of him, focusing on breathing for a moment, before grabbing for Eames to pull him up and the crawl between his legs, bracing his hands on his thighs.

"You don't have to-" Eames started, the sentence already undermined by a quiver of anticipation. Obviously he shouldn't be complaining. Arthur could have just relaxed but if he was willing...

Arthur was gentle, licking softly like he was trying to either say something with the act or simply just drive Eames up the wall. Thankfully, he soon took Eames fully inside his mouth, sucking and God, 耶穌, that felt good. It didn't take long and he barely squeaked out half a warning before breaking, panting sharply as his weight sagged on his elbows, eyes blinking open and closed slowly as he tried to catch his breath.

Arthur smiled drowsily up at him and deposited himself neatly on top of Eames, just the thin fabric of Arthur's shirt between them. Eames should really have taken the time to undress him properly.

"You take that off," Eames complained, tugging Arthur's shirt up to his armpits and sliding slightly down at the same time, getting comfortable. "No clothes allowed here, don't make me give you a ticket or something." The sentence was punctuated with a yawn he was helpless to stop. And now to the cuddling, with far less clothes than he had expected. Perfect.

"Is that a requirement of staying here?" Arthur asked, "Because you should have been upfront about this rule." He allowed the shirt to be removed, tugging it off the rest of the way and throwing it aside so he could nestle back down. "If I had known it applied to you, too, I would have moved in much sooner." He laid his head on the pillows beside Eames and nosed in, nipping at Eames' ear, and sighing contently.

"I thought you knew - it's an obvious habit," Eames chuckled and pulled his ear away. He turned slightly, slipping an arm under the side of Arthur that was on the bed so he could wrap his arms around his ribs. "If you don't mind, I think we have a bit of sleep to catch up on," he said before yawning, turning his head to meet Arthur and placing a soft kiss on the nearest piece of skin he could reach.

Arthur only shifted in a little closer and reached for the covers. "How's your head?" he asked, mirroring a yawn and bringing a hand up to run his fingers lightly at the nape of Eames' neck.

"Excellent," Eames nodded, humming at the light touch before he shifted slightly to tuck the both of them a little farther in. "Never been better." It wasn't bothering him and he was all to ready to fall asleep, which he promptly did.

When he awoke, it was somewhere around noon and his mind was fuzzy. Fortunately Arthur had brought up a glass of water, as if he had known and Eames reached for it, trying to move them as little as possible and not jostle Arthur before gingerly taking a sip.

Arthur only stretched out some along the length of his body and yawned into Eames' ribs. "We should finish setting up the room," he suggested.

"If you really want to get up," Eames sighed, offering the glass. He sat up a little bit higher, running the back of his hand down along Arthur's ribs lightly, smiling. "I can stay in bed for a while yet. But shelving needs to be done at some point." Shrugging, he yawned, trying to chase away the grogginess. "Whichever you want."

Arthur pushed himself up before he accepted the glass and drank greedily. "Are those my only choices? I could go for lunch," he admitted as he put the glass back, humming at the hands on his skin.

"Lunch, lunch is good." Eames nodded, stretching his now free arms over his head. "I have to say, we're shite at cuddling," he chuckled, winking. "Should try it again at some other time."

"I don't know, I liked it," Arthur teased.

Eames really was hungry though and he reached for his pants, thankfully not far away. "What do you want with the salad?"

"What do you have?"

Eames listed everything that was quickly made off but Arthur left him to his own decision making as he accepted a wave on the pad. Which only reminded Eames that they needed to wave Ariadne but that would wait.

He clambered down the stairs and set to work making lunch and Arthur joined him once the call was done. It was going to be chicken with the salad.

"That smells good," Arthur commented, drawing close.

"Of course it does, I'm cooking," Eames jibed, turning slightly to press a kiss on Arthur's cheek.

You know, if I was forced to explain to someone what I admired most about you, it would be your humility," Arthur deadpanned, moving away to set the table.

"And my sense of style." He imagined drab old neutrals Arthur was more than a fan of all the patterns and colors he had avoided inheriting. "Here we are," Eames transferred the chicken to the plates before turning off the heat and carrying them to the table. "Lunch is served."

"You have a mustard colored shirt." Arthur said with more gravity than it warranted, "I don't think even you could pull that off." He did sit and eat though. And he'd eaten breakfast as well. Eames couldn't be prouder.

"I totally can! Sure, it's a tad dated but that doesn't make that much of a difference." Eames spooned himself some salad as well, preferring to eat everything simultaneously and mix the flavors. "And mustard's better than grey, dark grey, beige, brown and dark blue, darling."

"That is a bold lie. The only time that color is acceptable is when it applies to it's namesake." Arthur asserted but chose to start on the chicken instead of arguing a point he knew Eames had won. "Christ, that's good."

Eames simply grinned, taking a bite out of his own food. "I'll wear it one day and we'll see. It's not even mustard, it's yellow with a pattern," he pointed out, waving his fork, then: "But thank you, my humility is flattered."

Arthur nudged Eames with his foot, frowning playfully as he continued to eat. "I couldn't stand to look at it long enough," he said. "Where did you even find it? Did you pay for it?"

"Uhm..." Eames frowned, trying to recall. "I can't say. Might have bought it but you don't want to know on how many planets it's customary to go shopping with your guest or gift clothes. That's why it's hard for me to keep track. But please," he waved a hand, "I bet I could easily seduce you in that shirt," he grinned, knocking his foot against Arthur's in turn. Not that that would change Arthur's opinion on the color.

Arthur shook his head. "The only way that would work is if you stipulated that I keep my eyes closed until it was off," he shot back and took a sip of water. He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully, "Or if the only way to get it off was if I promised to sleep with you."

"Or I kept it on the whole time~?" Eames lilted, grinning like a madman. This really was far more amusing than it had any right to be. "At least you'd have a nice Pavlovian reaction to it - might even like it."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Try it. See if I even stand next to you while you're wearing it, let alone have sex with you enough times for any respondent conditioning to take effect."

"Maybe I will," Eames easily rose to the challenge, leaning cockily in Arthur's direction. Oh and his plate was empty. "Well, I'm finished. Would you have me put on a shirt to talk to Ariadne or am I good as I am?" He had no real opinion on it and he was definitely going to wear the yellow one if he could find it in time, but there were also certain standards of decency to uphold.

Arthur gave him a stern look. "For Ariadne's sake, I'm going to tell you to put on a shirt." Then, after a moment and his tone edging on possessive, "And no one else needs to see you undressed."

"Aw, however will I get a tan?" Eames whined playfully, standing and pressing a short kiss to Arthur's temple before dropping his plate in the sink and heading upstairs. "I'll be right down!" He was going to find that yellow shirt if it took him a half hour.

In fact, he found it relatively quickly, squinting at it accusingly for a moment before shrugging and putting it on. It looked fine, it wasn't even close to mustard, simply a golden yellow with an alternating brown diamond pattern. But considering he knew which one Arthur was talking about, maybe in certain lights it could look a little mustardy. But not with the blue trousers, so Eames put both on, climbing downstairs and walking into the kitchen smugly, hands tucked in his pockets. "I'm ready."

"Oh you _ass_ ,"Arthur said from where he was washing the dishes. "There's a reason it went out of style and stayed there," he sniped as he went for the pad after drying his hands.

"It's coming back," Eames remarked, "style is cyclical, and if I tuck it in, look," he stuffed the tails as neatly as possible into his trousers. "Perfectly agreeable. With a belt that is but I'm not wearing a belt in the house, that's just some sort of torture." He clapped his hands with a finality, heading over to the table as Arthur turned on the pad.

"You know what else is coming back? My lunch."

Eames grinned and rubbed at Arthur's stomach, as if encouraging it to come out, at the same time butting his forehead into the side of Arthur's head, placing a kiss there, even as Arthur sent the wave. If Arthur's mood was good, his was bordering on fantastic, and he couldn't not indulge every little touch and bit of banter that came up between them.

Arthur pushed his hand away, still playful. "You are the absolute worst," he complained and leaned away.

Eames heard a tinny throat clearing and looked down to find Ariadne's eyebrows raised. "Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all. We called you didn't we, you can't possibly be interrupting anything." Eames tucked his hands into his pockets innocently, making sure to widen his eyes comically as well before smiling. "Sorry about ignoring your calls. Busy couple of days, I, well, both of us had."

"We, obviously, worked things out," Arthur said while Ariadne laughed at Eames' innocent act.

She seemed to hesitate. "Are you guys sure this time?"

"I've been sure since Black Rock, what are you looking at me for?" Eames shrugged, parting his hands. "But that doesn't mean we aren't going to argue or get on each other's nerves, we just had an argument this morning." Frankly he could hardly remember what it was about exactly, not instantly, the rest of the day neatly eclipsing it with happiness. "We'll see how we stand up to several days out in the black as soon as Rook gets fixed and if we haven't torn each other to shreds we'll get back to you on it."

Ariadne still looked uncertain. Back on Rook she had been ready to decapitate Arthur for him and Eames had to talk her down from it. She understood eventually, but with that understanding came the hesitance. It passed, however, and she offered comments on Eames' "vintage" shirt, before Arthur prompted her to explain more about what she was doing as far as school went. And she provided, airing every annoyance she had with trying to set appointments, to the academic coaches and the fact that some of her credits were no longer the ones required, and there were new ones. But when she calmed, she admitted staying home for another semester wasn't that bad. Her parents were starting to smother her since they'd retired and she wasn't staying in a dorm, something Arthur remembered about living with his father and he shared a few tips. Faking a migraine, which had to be done sparingly or it resulted in a visit to the doctor, had been one of his more successful ideas.

Eames shook his head at both of them, listening to the stories and complaints with interest anyway. Otherwise he stayed mostly quiet - there wasn't that much of interest going on in his life besides Arthur and he hadn't exactly gone to college so he listened instead.

The conversation followed twists and turns, focused mostly on Ariadne, which Arthur encouraged but eventually they found a stopping point and they exchanged their goodbyes while Ariadne held out for a promise that Eames would stop ignoring her calls.

"I promise, I promise! Although you might as well be calling Arthur, I don't even know where my comm is right now. Probably upstairs on the floor somewhere." Eames shrugged apologetically. It was true he was hard to reach, mostly for safety purposes but at the same time there was a bit of laziness there as well.

That seemed to satisfy her and she ended the wave, leaving Arthur to continue eying the shirt with disdain. Wholly exaggerated disdain. "I think there _is_ a Pavlovian response. I hate that shirt, and I'm starting to hate you too."

"Oh yeah?" Eames lifted off a bit from his seat to lean on the back of Arthur's pressing their mouths together firmly even though he was still smiling. "We'll have to work on that now, you know, since you mentioned it," he laughed between kisses.

Arthur returned the kiss, smiling into it as well, "Hm, still hate it..." he murmured after a moment, and then after another few kisses, mostly only encouraging Eames to continue, following his lips when they parted for air.

"We have all day," Eames grinned before his lips were occupied otherwise and pushed forward, pressing Arthur against the back of the chair and bracing a knee on the seat as he leaned forward.

Arthur only whined into the kiss and clung to him, responding wonderfully.

"So impatient," Eames murmured, turning the chair around with a quick push so it wasn't facing the table. They could go climb up to the bed but at the same time while he had Arthur here, they might as well. But speaking of which. "Stay, I'll be right back." It was better to do it earlier so he wasn't trying to climb a ladder while he was hard. This way was faster and he was up to the loft and down within a minute, box and bottle in hand, setting them down on the table and leaning back in for a kiss.

Arthur glanced between the condoms and lubricant then immediately started on tugging at the collar of Eames' shirt. "Here?" he asked, all breathless anticipation, "Are you going to...?"

"Ride you? If there aren't any complaints." Eames grinned, nipping at the side of Arthur's jaw even as Arthur reached for his shirt, still attempting to take it off. He could be mean but it wasn't that important, Arthur's neck a far more interesting object of focus.

Arthur closed his eyes and let out a breath, his fingers curled into the hem of Eames' shirt, stopped mid-tug. "No complaints," he managed, tilting his head to give better access to his neck.

A smile and Eames settled on Arthur's lap, mouth migrating from neck to collarbone as he tasted all the skin be could, pressing closer, hands migrating to Arthur's waist then upwards, rucking the shirt up first this time, fingertips skimming across ribs and chest, pausing briefly at his nipples to go back down his sides again. He was teasing him, now, winding him up but he finally got Arthur out of his shirt at the very least.

Now that was a far more acceptable amount of bare skin and Eames pressed further, licking and sucking across the expanse of it, ducking down to nibble on collarbone. Second time in the day and he was already aching for more of it. "Do we have to wait for a full medical report?" he asked somewhat breathlessly before nibbling on Arthur's ear, already grinding his hips slightly downward. There were no sheets to wash this time and he wanted to make a mess, if Arthur would allow it.

Arthur's fingers dug into his back as Eames laid off for a moment so Arthur could think. There was no pressure, the condoms were right on the table.

"Not if you don't want to," Arthur decided after a beat, almost immediately going for the fly of Eames' trousers.

"God, yes," Eames hissed, following Arthur's lead to unbutton and drop his own trousers and pants, followed by Arthur's and he almost fumbled the bottle of lube in his hurry. Getting a fair grip on it, he returned to kissing, sucking hungrily at Arthur's lips, fingers meanwhile opening the bottle and squeezing some out onto his fingers, starting up preparation. It was almost as if he was starved for this, regardless of what they were up to just a couple of hours ago.

Arthur's fingers joined his own and Eames groaned and bucked forward, pressing his hips against Arthur's chest, before chasing both their fingers out impatiently, instead lowering himself down gradually to align them. Fuck, Arthur was hot, wet, perfect, filling him up as he sat further downward, trembling lightly and one hand braced on the back of the chair. "精彩 我的天阿," he managed to vocalize, rising slowly, all his attention on the exact feeling, memorizing it.

Arthur buried his face in Eames' neck as his fingers grasped at Eames' back, panting and licking at the skin. "Please," he murmured, "please."

Eames sat back down, rolling his hips minutely and ducking his head for an open mouthed kiss, the hand not braced on the chair gripping Arthur's jaw to tilt his head back. They should really do this more often and his position let him keep the pace agonizingly slow, up and down and tilting slightly until he got the perfect angle, moaning softly into Arthur's mouth as he lowered himself once more.

Arthur whined then gasped out "Eames" again, shifting under him, trying to find the better angle, only succeeding in driving Eames mad. Eames groaned, shivering, and finally gave in, speeding up somewhat and panting, eyes closed and he more leaned his forehead against Arthur's than kissed him.

Arthur gripped him tight, squeezed his eyes shut, unable to catch his breath. "Eames, Eames," he panted, "I can't, I'm, fuck, Eames." It came out a helpless whine as he spilled, finally, wonderfully, right inside.

Eames managed a desperate groan in response, panting, trying to catch his breath before letting go as well, with Arthur's name on his lips. God, that was beautiful. A short moment to finally catch his breath and Eames stood, putting his knee up as support again. Ah... The shirt. They'd forgotten all about it. "Well fancy that, it came true less than an hour after I said it," he chuckled, wiping his hand on it gleefully. He'd ended up dirtying it anyway but it was absolutely worth it.

"I hate you," Arthur said, clearly too tired and breathless for anything more clever. "Shower?"

"Sure," Eames agreed, ready to lose the extra layer of fabric and already starting on it, kicking the pile of clothing into a semi neat pile and dumping the shirt in there as well. They might as well do laundry today, on top of everything else but the pants, which would come in handy. "Come on," he beckoned, holding his hand out to help Arthur get up.

Arthur stood on shaky legs, his movements more coltish than graceful and leaned on Eames' arm for support, making Eames grin all the wider. He herded Arthur into the bathroom but stepped towards the shower first so he could turn on the water. It was going to be a little bit of a wait until the water heated up sufficiently so he straightened for now, placing a kiss on Arthur's temple and snaking his hand across his waist.

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed, turning his head to catch Eames' chin. "I could get used to this," he said quietly. He smiled softly, like he was entirely unaware he was doing it before going to take out fresh towels and then checking on the temperature of the shower. He seemed to deem it warm enough and stepped under, beckoning with only a look.

"You'd better get used to this," Eames warned playfully, easily stepping in after. His body wanted another nap but it would have to wait till evening. They did have other things to do after all. The warm shower wouldn't help but he didn't mind it either. A yawn and he pressed himself against Arthur, catching some of the spray. "Except the me staying home a lot, I'm afraid I can't really allow myself the luxury, no matter how much I'd like to."

"Mmm," Arthur hummed and reached behind him to run a hand up Eames' thigh. "But when we're on Rook, just us, nowhere to be for weeks," he said, painting the picture for himself as much as Eames. "Is there a rule about nudity on your ship?" he teased, laughing as he soaped himself up.

"As long as you aren't embarrassed of the stars there isn't," Eames hummed, shifting his balance from foot to foot gradually, his head tilted down towards Arthur's shoulder, spreading the suds he could reach to Arthur's back, rubbing and stroking. "I know I'm not. Although it's best to keep a pair of pants handy anyway, just in case we get pulled over. Not everyone reacts well to that sort of thing."

"Do I have anything to be embarrassed about?" Arthur asked, confident and impish, stepping back to run the washcloth over Eames this time, starting with his chest and moving down, then back up again.

"Are _you_ fishing now, Arthur?" Eames grinned, ducking his head under and out of the water of the shower head so he could still see. It was a bit like they were back on Black Rock but the water cooler and less pressurized, washing each other. At the very least, there were no wounds, no Reavers lurking in the shadows, just Arthur, and he rested his hands on Arthur's hips until he had enough of babying him and surrendered the washcloth. "You might be embarrassed of what I'd be moved to do, there are windows after all and sometimes ships."

"'What I'd be moved to do' what are you implying here?" Arthur asked, finally giving up the washcloth.

"Well, if you're naked, I'm naked, too, things happen, we might scar some unfortunate floaters by." Hardly but that was the only thing he could qualify as potentially embarrassing.

Arthur grinned, but didn't argue, moving on. "So, which one of these was the first?" he asked, tracing his fingers along the lines of Eames' tattoos.

"This one," he answered easily, pointing with his free hand to the swirl of black on his right shoulder, the two suns of the Georgia system and the name Hera hidden inside it. "And speaking of which, you still have the longest record of not asking 'so what does each one mean?'"

"Is that a good thing?" Arthur chuckled. "Is why a better question?"

"It's a curious thing," Eames shrugged, scrubbing the washcloth against his forearms in turn, trying not to get the soap under the shower before he finished. "I guess it's a kind of small talk among people with tattoos or people with people with tattoos. Small talk bordering on personal sharing time I suppose." He didn't mind either way, it was a simple, funny observation: Arthur had plenty of chances to see him shirtless and sleeveless but never once posed the question.

"I feel I've been remiss," Arthur commented, running his fingers over the lettering. "Do they all have a meaning?" he asked as he gently turned Eames' arm, tracing over the tiny numbers across his bicep. "Sparrow?"

"The name of the ship I flew and its serial number here." This one had been done when he was on leave during the war, when the company had still been together. He smiled sadly before letting his arm drop, taking up the wash cloth again.

Arthur stepped closer, comforting, putting his hands on Eames' hips. "What about the first one then?" he asked, changing topics. He lifted a hand to run over the almost tribal pattern. "What inspired this?"

Eames slipped a hand to Arthur's waist. So Arthur hadn't figured it out. "A shot in the dark because I had no specific design. I had wanted something big and bold for my first one and as I planned to leave for the stars even then, I wanted not to forget home. Two suns - the two circles crossed holding up the rest and Hera spelled out here but so you have to look twice to see it. Got lucky I guess, the girl was good and you sometimes get shoddy jobs when you don't have a concrete design in mind."

Arthur hummed in understanding. "It is good," he commented before lowering his hand to run along Eames' side and stomach. "What about this one?"

"That..." Eames followed Arthur's hand, coming to stand close. "My mother's name. Deliah." Another smile and he lowered his eyes before looking back up, placing his hand on Arthur's. It's wasn't a terrible hurt but it was there nonetheless and he took comfort in every touch they had between them, as much of it as he could.

Arthur nuzzled into Eames neck. "My mother's name was Vida. I'm not sure which she hated more, her given name or her surname."

"I like that name," Eames smiled, stroking his thumb down the small of Arthur's back. "Of course, it wouldn't suit a general, especially with a surname like Darling, but it is pretty." It wasn't so bad and he couldn't find himself upset for long. It was too pleasant here.

"General Hale was better so she took my father's name. You almost done? There's work to do."

Eames sighed heavily, pressing his palm into Arthur's back, pressing them closer for a kiss. "The water's going to get cold soon anyway but do we have to?" he whined.

"The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can climb into bed," Arthur said and turned off the water then leaned out to get the towels, passing one to Eames.

Another, all too put upon sigh. "You make a compelling argument, Mr. Hale," he said as he accepted the towel, drying off efficiently. "But far too much effort is spent in getting there. Cabinets and... Is it just the cabinets we were planning on?" That shouldn't be so much.

"A nightstand, if you've got one," Arthur said as he stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist. He was apparently planning on climbing the ladder in it for a change of clothes. Eames left him to that while he grabbed the pair of pants he'd been wearing earlier. They were barely worn anyway.

"Let's see what we have. We'll probably need to clean out and disassemble the drawers and night stand that're still in my room. I'll bring a box for the stuff that's likely in them."

He let Arthur get dressed while he cleaned out the drawer, piling everything into a newly assembled box. Arthur wandered in to request a tshit, which Eames granted him easily, already starting to work on disassembling the drawer in front of him. He should get out tools for Arthur. Eames opened the upper drawer of the nightstand only to shut it sharply. He'd forgotten the dog tags were still in there, he should probably hide them in the box before Arthur questioned them - it wasn't a weakness he really wanted to discuss. Opening the drawer again he went straight for the tools, handing Arthur what he needed before starting to clean out the lower drawers, hoping Arthur would be distracted enough soon.

"You slammed that drawer pretty hard. Does it stick?"

"Uuh, no." _There was a spider_ was possibly the weakest excuse he could ever come up with. "Overestimated my strength a little. The one lower sticks a bit and I got them confused." He used the excuse to jiggle the drawers, in the meanwhile finding a handkerchief he could use to wrap up the clinking metal and start putting everything in the box as well. "Dad must have gotten bored and fixed it or something..."

Arthur huffed but didn't press only adding: "Your room is small."

"I told you it was," Eames stated, piling the rest of the nightstand’s contents into the box. They wouldn't be able to close it and... Well, Arthur already knew about what had happened and if he saw he might connect the dots. Eames just really didn't want to revisit it himself. Still, the very first thing he wanted to do was lock it away. He took up the second set of tools instead, starting on the drawer. "The other one is bigger and the loft spans them both."

They worked quietly after that and after that they hoisted both drawers and the nightstand up via rope and a pulley that was attached to the ceiling for that specific purpose. After, they broke for fruit. Dinner was going to be in a couple of hours.

They had left the condoms and lube on the table, which was as hilarious as it could be mortifying and Arthur hid them immediately in his pockets. Eames left him to clean up and start on the drawers as he went to do the laundry, joining Arthur when that was done so he could help and put his own things away.

That done, he flopped back onto the bed, stretching out lengthwise. "There we go. Now we can count you officially moved in."

Arthur dropped down next to him, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on folded arms. "And we've already christened the bed, so yeah. Officially moved in." He smiled and leaned to plant a soft kiss, purely affectionate. He went quiet, content to just lie with Eames for a few moments and then he asked, "Any chance that yellow shirt is beyond repair?"

Eames laughed, turning over to his side so he could face Arthur, tucking his hand under his head. "I'm afraid it will make it after a simple wash," he answered, lifting his hand to stroke his thumb along Arthur's jaw. This was why he'd hidden the tags. There was no reason to ruin a good day like this, not even for a moment. The tattoos were long faded memories, they could be discussed. The tags could wait, forever, preferably.

"Great," Arthur said sarcastically and closed his eyes, then shifted and rolled on to his side as well, and gently nudged his leg between Eames'. "I can't believe Morgan complained about your tattoos," he commented, eyes on where Eames' shirt had rolled up to expose one of them.

"To each his own," Eames grinned, settling his hand on Arthur's ribs. If they could just stay in bed all day, it would be wonderful, he thought for the umpteenth time. In the same vein however, they now had all the time in the world, now that Arthur had agreed to stay. "You like them, don't you?" he asked, pressing his lips to Arthur's nose briefly.

Arthur smiled back, laughing. "Yes. But I'm biased. I like the man underneath them too much." He boldly declared, and then froze, like a deer in the headlights.

"What flattery," Eames grinned, ignoring the falter to kiss Arthur gently instead, fingers stroking softly down his spine. Flattery or not it warmed him and he pulled back, still smiling. "You should know that it's mutual, even with your boring, plain old skin," he joked, although he couldn't say he minded and leaving his own marks there was a pleasure, even if they would fade.

"I could get a tattoo," Arthur said suddenly, then turned thoughtful as Eames stared at him, the surprise soon fading into a relaxed smile.

"What would you get?" Eames asked, curious. Then, "A big sleeve with dragons and koi fish and wear a yukata half off all the time and threaten people with a wooden sword? I wouldn't complain."

"Noted," Arthur said dryly. "Iterum incipio. 'I begin again'" he tried, "It's Latin, something my father taught me."

"Mm." Eames considered it, closing his eyes from a moment. It fit and in more ways than one, not to mention would look amazing in a script or even print, small or large. Not that he was going to convince Arthur he should do it, but he was already planning who they should go to if Arthur decided he did want it. "And where would you get it?"

Arthur let out a breath like he'd been holding it. "I'm not sure," he admitted, "between my shoulder blades?"

"Mm," Eames murmured thoughtfully once more, thinking and moving his hand up to the spot Arthur mentioned, fingers drumming there lightly. "If you wanted a tattoo why didn't you get one earlier, I wonder? As long as it's no where obvious, I'm sure no one at work would see or know about it. Especially between your shoulder blades."

"I didn't have anything in mind, and the Alliance doesn't appreciate them, and it would have come up when I was under review for a promotion. I had enough working against me." He studied Eames for a moment, "Have you never been interviewed for a job? It's a standard question. 'Do you have any tattoos? Please describe.'"

"You can always lie about it," was the automatic answer. If Arthur wasn't in the habit of wearing open back dresses, something like that need never come to anyone's attention. "But yeah, not really. Not really the interview type, those black market chaps. And I don't think Niska would care - if he did I would have covered every little inch of myself with ink, in an effort to get him off my back."

"Niska," Arthur latched onto the topic. "You've mentioned him before. Who is he?"

Eames grimaced, but didn't move away. It was an unpleasant topic but not as emotional as the one he really was avoiding. "A madman. He has a skyplex orbiting around Ezra and if you do business with him, you're likely to be doing something terrible or dying horribly because you didn't do whatever terrible thing he asked you to do. I was almost sucked into being one of his personal dogs through a couple of recommendations, if you want to call them that. Fortunately, almost is still almost, but I did nick an authentic Tiffany for him, to my eternal shame."

"Tiffany?" Arthur asked, stunned and rendered skeptical, "As in Tiffany and Co.?" He backtracked, "So, he's a middle man, like Badger? Does he have a full name?"

"Adelai Niska, but yes, Tiffany and Co." Eames sighed. It was a good lamp, it even worked, although the power outlet had to be adapted for skyplex use. "And he's not a middleman, more like the head of a crime syndicate." Eames shook his head. "Murder, slavery, torture, extortion, robbery, and drug dealing, ten times worse than Badger. Badger is mostly full of steam. You don't want to cross Niska."

"Did he go after you?"

"No, I never did promise anything. I was just invited and didn't go. Rude, but not exactly something he'd kill over. Almost." It was a stroke of luck and a piece of well timed information that had saved him that experience.

Arthur hummed, wrapping his arms around Eames' middle. "Anyone else we need to avoid?"

A chuckle and Eames returned the hug, moving to cross their ankles and entangle their legs even more. "Badger. Would be for the best, at least for a little while longer. There's a bit of danger anywhere we might land, I believe I've crossed someone in at least every port city that comes to mind, but it's nothing more than a bar fight or two, at worst."

"A little while?" Arthur repeated, "Do you often do business with people that have tried to kill you?"

"What's a little gunfire between... Businessmen, for lack of a better term. If I ceased talking to everyone who's shot at me at least once, I'd be out of work extremely quickly." Eames shrugged, lifting his palm somewhat from Arthur's back, enough to gesture but leaving his pinky there. "There's not a whole lot of trust there in the first place, and Badger's already set me up to be blown to pieces that one time. Of course he said he didn't know but what else would he say?"

Arthur frowned and grumbled about gorram _weasels_. "Still, I vote we don't head back to Persephone until we have to. Plenty of other planets."

"I'm not going to argue," Eames said, laughing, stroking his fingers up and down Arthur's spine once more. "Of course if we keep to the other side of the planet it should be fine as well. We'll see where life takes us."

Arthur smiled, warm and wide, stealing a kiss. "We'll see," he confirmed and pressed his nose into Eames' neck to sigh contently. "How soon do you need to start dinner?"

"Depends on what time it is," Eames shifted slightly to grab Arthur's watch from the now conveniently located night table. "In fifteen minutes or so," he said, then yawned, putting it down and pressing a kiss to Arthur's forehead as the only place he could reach. "So fish?" he asked, continuing their lunch conversation.

"That's fine," Arthur said, "I'm still hungry," he added, nipping at Eames' shoulder. "What kind of fish was it? Looked like halibut."

"Halibut," Eames confirmed. "I thought you didn't know how to cook?" A laugh and he squeezed his arm around Arthur's waist, nipping back. "I was thinking maybe some black bean sauce and it would go well with some more salad. With tomatoes." It was better to take advantage of the fresh leaves and fruit now while they were in season here and not for some inordinate prices or flash frozen. Tomatoes were always ruined when they came in contact with the cold.

"I do know what fish are," Arthur shot back, "I even recognize most fruits and vegetables." He rolled his eyes and kicked lightly at Eames feet. "Ass," he added for good measure. "But, yeah. Sounds good. Do you want me to help?"

Another laugh and Eames caught Arthur's foot in his, trapping it between his ankles. "I can put you in charge of the salad again," he said, mentally double checking the condition of the back of his head. It seemed to be fine, only soft prickling of a healing bruise confined to the surface of his skull. Probably still tender but nothing serious.

Arthur tugged lightly with his foot. "Are we cuddling or is this now a hostage situation?"

"It could be," Eames raised his eyebrows before grinning, crossing his shins across the caught ankle this time and tightening the hold of his arm once more, daring Arthur to try and break loose. They still had fifteen minutes to goof off and he would be remiss if he didn't take them. And if they were a little bit late making dinner, well, that wouldn't be a tragedy either.

Arthur grinned back, tugging a with a little more force and finding no release. He settled and eyed Eames shrewdly. "I'll hear your terms," he said in a perfectly no-nonsense tone.

"No terms. You're staying here forever," Eames grinned and tugged, rolling Arthur on top of him and raising his knees, this time trapping Arthur's thigh lightly, and bumping noses before tilting his head for a kiss, licking Arthur's lips lightly.

Arthur didn't even bother to resist, parting his mouth slightly and chasing Eames' tongue with his own until he pulled back a little. "If you want that to be possible, you're going to have to meet all my needs."

"Name them," Eames smiled, folding his arms around the base of Arthur's ribs, enjoying the weight of him pressing all along his body. Arthur didn't even kick up a fuss to his thoughtless forever although Eames meant it more than he might admit. Perhaps not forever right there - they did need to cook dinner - but nonetheless.

Arthur pretended to think before listing in mock seriousness, "Food, coffee and sex. Several times a week if possible on the latter." He grinned. "Look at you. Two out of three already." He kissed at Eames' jawline, working his way along it.

"We have coffee," Eames stated, tilting his head to bring his jaw towards Arthur, letting him kiss all he wanted, his own hands stroking firmly along Arthur's back. "Don't know if it's a good idea now or we should stick with tea, but we do have it." It was a useless statement but he'd rather say useless things and slip his hands under Arthur's shirt than actually get up to cook dinner.

Arthur huffed out a laugh. "Tomorrow morning then, before you leave, and I promise I'll be here when you get back. Now, are you going to let me up so we can start on dinner?"

"I'll make sure of it," Eames laughed before sighing. "I don't know. What if I don't feel like it quite yet?" Even though he was going on hungry, he could still wait a little longer. "What time is it?"

Arthur stretched for his watch. "You have six minutes," he announced and put the watch back, then sank back down on top of Eames, "I do like you on your back," he commented.

"Well, you have me," he said in lieu of an answer to the second statement, nestling his back into the bed a little. "What are you going to do with me?"

Arthur brought a hand up and combed through Eames' hair, massaging his scalp a little. "What am I _not_ going to do with you?" Arthur spun the phrase and grinned. "But for now, I'm going to make sure you don't regret this decision." And then he leaned down to align their mouths and kiss slowly, gently. Not chaste, but not with the same urgency their kisses had a habit of taking on.

That sounded like a good way to spend now five minutes and Eames tilted his head up, giving Arthur more room. He was glad Arthur had decided to take his offer of an overlarge t-shirt so he had the chance to slide his hand even further up, racking the shirt up almost completely so he could place a hand on Arthur's neck, squeezing gently.

Arthur moaned softly, then moved back a scant inch. "It's, um, probably been six minutes."

Eames whined but let go, only taking away the pressure of his hands, without actually moving them. "No thirdsies?" he questioned playfully, letting his hands slide off as Arthur straightened. They might have half an hour but he doubted his father would be particularly pleased if they were obviously not even ready for his return and in fact probably showering. Because that wouldn't be obvious at all.

"I can't even tell if you're serious." Arthur said, changing out of the oversized t-shirt into a presentable button-up.

"I'm always serious," Eames said, sitting up and mussing his hair. He should probably cut it at some point, or at the very least comb it back. It was too late in the day to do any of those and he simply made a note of it, climbing down after Arthur, heading to the kitchen and straightening his shirt at the same time. "I'll leave the salad to you then?" he asked, moving the fish from it's place in the sink onto a cutting board.

Arthur nodded and they worked quietly until Eames' father finally made an appearance. He looked tired and in pain, liked he'd walked too far again, collapsing heavily into the chair by the table. Arthur set a glass of water and the salad in front of him almost immediately, probably for the best. Eames sighed. He had assistants. At the very least he wouldn't be particularly talkative.

"A bath would help with the pain, is that what he does?" Arthur asked softly over the pop and crackle of the fish.

"More like grits his teeth and bares it, but I can get him to if that will help," Eames frowned, realizing he probably should have asked Arthur earlier. The doctors hadn't been much help in that regard and Eames senior was just as stubborn at avoiding pain killers as Eames himself. He could put the water on while they were having tea so it could fill up and his father would be able to get in immediately. The hot water supply was likely back to normal after their shower as well.

"It will," Arthur said, "I don't know exactly what exercises he needs, but some of them might be easier to do underwater if you wanted to suggest it." Then he went back to setting the table, leaving the plates for Eames and joining his father at the table for light conversation about how work had gone.

A nod and Eames removed the fish from the pan, put each piece on a different plate and scraping the sauce off afterwards before moving to put them on the table. He might as well suggest the bath now, so it could be over and done with and with a little bit of diplomatic coaxing he did finally get his father to agree to it, probably having given up on fighting the concern due to the discomfort. It was both easier and worrying at the same time and Eames shook his head sadly, sitting down to eat.

Eames left shortly after everyone finished to turn on the water, coming back to set out tea and flapjacks, sitting back down without doing much to break the silence. This was probably more relaxing than chatter for his father so he kept it that way, already feeling guilty about taking the day off, no matter what logical excuse he had. There must have been a reason his father had been irate in the morning and now he was reaping the consequences of it. The thought pattern continued until just he and Arthur remained at the table, knowing very well that his father would want to make it to the bathroom on his own.

Arthur nudged him with his foot and then trapped Eames' between his ankles. Eames wrinkled his nose and crossed his ankles as well, trapping one of Arthur's feet in return, before sitting back with his cup. "At least tomorrow you get to explore outside, eh?" he smiled, nodding his head towards the backyard. They had inadvertently stayed inside and the day had easily gotten away from them.

"Yeah." Arthur agreed. "Is there stuff that needs to be done in house?"

"I haven't done anything with the plants," Eames sighed heavily. "But I'm helpless with that sort of thing and they're already growing wild and the roses would have gotten eaten if I hadn't found the pesticide spray. I still don't understand who took japanese beetles with them to an agricultural planet, but at the very least they're gone."

Arthur nodded. "I guess I will be spending some time outside. Are you telling me I need a tan?"

"You could use one," Eames raised his eyebrows pointedly before shaking his head and laughing. "It'll mostly be trimming work but if you can't, don't bother, it's not all that important." The little bath house could also use a repaint but he wasn't about to ask Arthur to do that and there were plenty of menial things that the list, should he make one, would run as long as his arm. They would probably never be done, either. They were leaving. "You should sightsee first," he continued.

"Yes. I should wander around a city, that even you admit is difficult to navigate, alone," Arthur deadpanned.

"What's more fun than a maze? A town shaped maze." Eames parted his hands in a shrug, smiling. It seemed like the bath really was helping - he hadn't heard a peep from the bathroom yet and he usually would if Eames senior found something dull or straining his patience. Good. "But do what you'd like. We should probably start on the dishes. Early rise tomorrow, for me anyway."

It was easy to fall back into their washing and drying routine and Eames let Arthur wipe the counters while he check on his father. He'd fallen asleep in the bath. And when he woke he didn't even bother to complain or get angry, simply accepted help, surprising but at the very least easier than the opposite. Eames left his father to dress himself, heading uselessly to the kitchen before turning back to watch his father walk uneasily to his room.

It didn't take long for Arthur to shoo him out of the kitchen, too, and Eames sighed but washed his face and brushed his teeth, heading up to the loft to wait on Arthur. Arthur was quick just as he promised and settled in easily at Eames side.

"Your father looked like he was walking better."

"Yeah. Thank you," Eames offered a smile, curling his arm around Arthur's waist. "I would try to get him to stay home tomorrow considering how tired he was today but not only would he resist me, I wouldn't have any idea what was going on without him walking me through it." A sigh. "We'll see."

Arthur kissed him softly, cupping his face and running a thumb over his cheek. "Stay with him and make sure he doesn't overexert himself then," Arthur suggested. "Maybe he'll sleep in tomorrow."

"Maybe, but that won't exactly improve his mood," Eames turned onto his side to press a little bit closer, stealing another kiss and closing his eyes for a short while. "Neither of those things really although I can give those rotten employees a what for when I get there. It may not be in their job description but that's just shameless."

"Are you sure your father wasn't just being stubborn?" Arthur asked. He moved his hand from Eames' face to his neck, fingers moving lightly over the skin, absently trying to soothe. "If you can't get him to take it easy, what chance do they have?"

"Probably," another sigh and Eames ducked his head, leaning his forehead on Arthur's collar. "You can only do so much when there's a lot of work to be done but hand him everything on a silver platter. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with him..." He was still planning to leave, he couldn't not, but the guilt still tied him to this house no matter how much he wanted to let it go. "First he wants my help, then he doesn't, it's a nightmare."

"If you want to stay a little longer, we can. We don't have to leave as soon as Rook is fixed." Arthur dropped a kiss to Eames temple, and buried his nose in Eames' hair.

"But I don't want to stay a little longer," Eames complained, letting a little whine sneak into his voice. It wasn't anything but opinion anyway. "Nothing I do or say helps anyway yet I feel like I have to keep trying. Not to mention there's no possible way I'll be able to pay Tam back if we don't leave and she's been more than gracious about the whole thing."

"You are helping him," Arthur insisted, "You had dinner ready for him, you drew him a bath. Don't feel guilty. He probably doesn't want to acknowledge that he can't do everything himself yet. I'm willing to bet he's trying to do more at work than he did before the injury. Eventually he'll stop."

"Which makes me feel worse about leaving. If..." Well, it was useless to want his mother to be alive again. She wasn't and wouldn't be, there was no point it wishing otherwise. "There are plenty of people around who can help, who would love to help in fact, he chases all of them away too, just tolerates me because I'm his son and may or may not become less of a disappointment. Hopefully, you're right - I'm much more use to him out there than here, although it might not seem like it..."

"Then let them start helping," Arthur said, pulling Eames in closer and wrapping his leg over him. "Get your father used to seeing people that want to help him."

"Maybe." It was worth a try at the very least and Eames pressed a kiss to Arthur's collar, settling comfortably in between Arthur's legs. It was far more physical than Arthur was usually, not including the sex, and Eames figured he must be giving off a fairly troubling impression. "It'll be easier to start with all those boxes down stairs, although I have to make sure I don't accidentally give away my clothes, too."

"We'll move yours up here tomorrow," he said, then added, "you can unpack it yourself though. You're the one that left it downstairs."

"Yeah I should..." The day was over, technically, but he still couldn't bring himself to mention the tags. Talking about his father in one breath and a nightmare in the next was not a good way to end the day. "And clean up everything else, like put the rope back where I found it. I'll do it tomorrow, I swear," he yawned, turning the tone a little bit more humorous. "After work."

Arthur smiled his amusement and dropped another kiss to Eames' head. "I believe you," he assured, "now, go to sleep. You still owe me coffee in the morning."

"Mm, alright." He couldn't recall if they had slept extra during the day or to make up for the previous night but he had no trouble drifting off, still cuddled up in Arthur's arms. Like that, it was easy to imagine that was what it would be every night.

Eames woke a little bit before the alarm, thankfully, still not used to being startled out of his sleep by noise. They didn't seem to have moved in the night and he extricated himself gradually, no doubt waking Arthur no matter how careful he was. And the alarm went off moments later, so there went that.

Arthur groaned unhappily as he blindly reached for the pad to silence it. He dropped it back on the nightstand and forced himself to finish disentangling them and get up. "'Morning," he half-mumbled as he stretched and made his way to the dresser to pick out clothes.

Eames echoed the sentiment and when they dressed and made their way downstairs it was still quiet. It seemed that the bath had done his father a world of good. So Eames wasn't planning on waking him.

Breakfast was a quiet affair of scrambled eggs and bacon, made by Eames this time and he made it out of the house before his father woke.

The day passed quickly although Eames didn't manage to get a call through to Arthur. His father had picked up and said that Arthur was outside trimming the hedges which shouldn't have come as a surprise but he didn't get a call back even hours later. Maybe there'd been a fight? He shouldn't have left Arthur alone with his father, what had he been thinking?

But when he got home it was peaceful and dinner was served and Arthur looked healthy and happy, browsing something on the pad at the kitchen table while his father cooked. There didn't seem like there were any fights, they looked like they were getting along in fact. A relief. "What's for dinner?" he asked, perking up at the smell, nodding eagerly as his father gave him the answer and heading off to wash his hands before sitting down for dinner. "You guys seemed to have an interesting day." He hadn't even been accused of stopping his father from working, it must have been some miracle.

"Busy, more than interesting," Arthur answered, barely looking up from the pad and then only at Eames. It looked like there had been some fighting after all. "The garden is in better shape. There are some patches to fill, but George needs to decide what he wants to plant there before we do anything."

"That's good." Arthur had received permission to call his dad George. Interesting. He continued to summarize the general state of things, going into detailed as his father grilled him on his day. Thankfully, he'd anticipated this reaction, worse even, and could field all the questions, even if it did take all dinner until his father finally retired with a not quite satisfied huff. "Well... That went well. I suppose. So how did the day really go? You call him George now." Eames raised his eyebrows.

"Fine," Arthur answered again, though a bit wearily and stood up to start on the dishes. "I spoke to him about a few things, his hip, how he treats you, which he didn't like. Later I told him about myself, the truth... and I think he's trying," he said as washed. "He asked me to try and get you to visit once we leave. He misses you, and I..." Arthur hesitated. "I think we should."

"You told him..." Eames frowned, taken aback. "I guess he really _is_ trying." Whenever he considered it, he could never imagine his father finding out about Arthur's history to end in anything but a huge scandal. A sigh. "No, I mean, we totally can. Five years ago was different. We were both different I guess. Now that the war was a long time ago and my... mother's death was a long time ago, I guess it's settled itself somehow. I grew up, I know that much."

Arthur wrung out the dish rag with a yawn. He was already done with the dishes? Eames must be out of it. "You ready to go upstairs?"

"Yeah sure," Eames stood, stretching slightly. "I'll have to go grocery shopping soon as well," he noted, stealing a quick peck to Arthur's cheek and heading toward the ladder. "And I have to unpack my box, don't I?" It wasn't time to sleep quite yet, even though he felt like it.

"I took care of that."

"You... Unpacked it..." Well it wasn't as if he'd said not to, he thought Arthur wouldn't even want to. Eames paused, trying to get over his reluctance as best as he could without losing his temper. "And the, uh." He made a jingly gesture with his hand - not that here was anything else unusual in the box and he'd done a shoddy job of hiding them since he didn't think he'd need to.

"Yes," Arthur said gently. "They're wrapped up, in the lowest drawer of the nightstand. We can move them wherever you want."

Eames looked down guiltily, remembering Arthur asking what was wrong the first time he'd happened upon them. He cleared his throat, still gripping the first rung of the ladder. "I... Didn't want to ruin yesterday. Which reminds me... Happy belated twenty four hours." He smiled weakly, hoping there wouldn't be many more questions. "Almost two times that now."

"I just want you to know, you can talk to me whenever. Don't worry about ruining the day or the moment, or anything else. We're going to have plenty of those," Arthur said, ignoring the cutesy diversion of a 24-hour anniversary. "Better days, even."

A sigh and Eames let go of the ladder, sliding a hand around Arthur's waist instead, stepping into his space and leaning his temple against Arthur's. A beat and he sighed once more, deflating a little bit. "It's not that. It's not that I can't talk about it it's just that I don't want to. I'd like to forget but at the same time I don't. You know." He bobbed his head lightly, gesturing away with his free hand.

Arthur hummed in understanding and turned to place a soft kiss on Eames' temple. "You said you wanted to pick up groceries? Mind if I change first?"

"Well not now," Eames laughed, leaning back slightly but keeping his hand in place. "Everything's closed now, I meant sometime else... Likely the weekend." He sighed lightly. "It sure is strange, working five days a week. You don't have time doing everything you might need to. Or really spend time with people you might want to." Another smile and he motioned up the ladder. "Hopefully I won't need to stay late tomorrow or Friday."

"Sounds like you missed me." Arthur observed, smiling slyly before heading upstairs.

"Very much," Eames let Arthur walk around him before following, taking a seat shortly on the edge to look around. They really were settled in, it was something out of a dream. "I'd be offended if you thought otherwise," he said, grinning. "I was sad you didn't return my call, even if I would only have been able to spare a few seconds. But a page from my own book, isn't it?"

Arthur stopped, and turned to face Eames, smiling softly though it faltered. "I didn't want to be a distraction.You were only going to be gone for a few more hours; you were coming home."

"It will pass, I'm only being needy," Eames said, shaking his head, standing and nearing with a smile. It really was closer to a joke, he hadn't meant to make Arthur nervous. "Don't worry so much, it was just a silly thing. I'd been in the mood to talk to you and not my father, not to mention I had a feeling be wouldn't even mention I called. I hadn't known you were so friendly." He placed his hands on Arthur's waist again, coming back into his space.

Arthur settled instantly at the hands on his waist. "I think friendly is a strong word," Arthur said, and then gently kissed Eames' cheek. "I'll make it up to you," he promised, pulling Eames towards the bed.

"I'm looking forward to it," Eames said as he walked along, letting himself be led but not patient enough to wait, ducking in for a firmer, proper kiss this time. Clearly Arthur had been underestimating when he'd said at least once a week. They could do better than that.

Arthur kissed back, lowering them both onto the bed and scooting back. "Mm, I missed you," he said, voice low, "I thought of you in the shower," he teased, nipping at Eames' ear.

Eames furrowed his eyebrows, unsure what reaction he should go with. Being jealous of an appliance was silly after all. He braced his hands on the mattress, kissing along Arthur's neck instead. "Wish I was there to witness it," he hummed instead, already coaxing the hem of Arthur's shirt up with a hand.

"Just witness?" Arthur asked, feigning offense as he reached up Eames shirt as soon as his was off, blindly roving.

"Well maybe a little more than that," Eames allowed, ducking forward to run his mouth from neck to shoulder and back, nipping at the collar bone. Arthur gave a soft abortive moan as Eames' mouth moved along his neck, and he tilted his head to allow Eames more room. His hand busied himself with undoing Arthur's pants as he sucked a spot carefully, still a bit lower than the collar of a shirt, just in case.

Eames groaned as Arthur's hand made its way into his pants for a few messy strokes, letting Arthur push his pants down, separating for a moment to kick them away and at the same time pull Arthur's pants off and toss those away as well, leaning back in for a deep kiss. His hands roamed freely, one stroking Arthur gently as he settled in between his thighs. He had indeed missed it, after a day of having Arthur to himself, it was hard to get used to the opposite.

Arthur pulled back for air, panting softly as Eames' hands drifted lower and lower, mouth back on Eames', one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other palming him in measured strokes. God, it was too much. "We should probably get the, uhm," Eames tried to form the rest of the phrase before realizing it was useless and just ducked out of Arthur's arms to reach for the nightstand to grab the box of condoms. He came back instantly however, nipping and licking at Arthur's neck.

Arthur pushed his face away, "Stop, stop, you know what that does to me," he warned, breathless. He took the box from Eames and withdrew two as he collected himself, then he tossed the box onto the nightstand, taking the responsibility for opening and rolling both of them on.

"What do you want?" Eames asked cheerfully, this time pressing his mouth to Arthur's collar and shoulder, not willing to be too far apart.

Arthur sank back down into the mattress. "What do _you_ want?" he asked, "You were the one at work today."

"Yes, ordering people around, for all the fun that was." Eames smiled anyway, before brandishing the bottle of lube at the same time as he ducked back down to nip at Arthur's jaw. "But this is a bit different and at the very least my shoulder's strong enough to hold you up." He demonstrated, pressing their hips together while he stole another kiss. Nonchalant as it was, the thought of Arthur's legs clenched around his waist was far too enticing to just let lie.

Arthur let out a breathy gasp. "Do you, uh," he thrust forward, dragging himself up Eames' stomach, "want to fuck me then?"

"I do," Eames managed between the soft groan that escaped him as Arthur bucked in his hand. Fuck... This had no business being so intense every single gorramn time... Still, there was little sense in waiting and he let go in favor of reaching for the lube, warming it before pressing his fingers to Arthur's entrance and inside. It still wasn't getting old, no matter how much it was needed or not.

" _Oh_ ," Arthur choked out, pushed himself on them, riding them as much as he could while on his back.

"Jesus fuck," okay maybe that wasn't the greatest idea. Eames leaned forward further, biting along Arthur's collar again to distract himself before pulling his fingers out and slide his hand around to the base of Arthur's spine, lifting and aligning them, pushing in slowly.

That didn't work either because Arthur grinned wickedly and wrapped his legs around Eames' waist, pushing him in completely. "So fucking _good_."

Eames couldn't even muffle his moan, pressing his forehead to Arthur's shoulder, trying to even his breath. "You are a terrible person," he managed.

Arthur laughed, which turned into a sharp gasp as Eames was back to licking up Arthur's neck in retribution and rocking slowly back and forth on his knees. " _Ass!_ " he gasped out before Arthur repeated the motion, using his legs to cling to Eames and ride him at this angle, finding Eames' rhythm and forcing it to speed up.

Eames didn't let up all but lavishing Arthur's neck with attention but sped up, rhythm turning sharper and rougher, fingers still splayed on the base of Arthur's spine. He just wished they were completely alone, so Arthur wouldn't have to muffle his moans in the pillow, let him hear everything, because there was nothing he liked better than making Arthur moan.

Arthur came with a bitten out graon, body arching into Eames' chest and Eames' thrusts turned messy and short and Eames froze as well, shuddering slightly as he finally broke, waiting it out in the warm tightness of Arthur's body before pulling out, leaving careful kisses on Arthur's skin. It was a good thing he'd showered earlier at the garage because he was exhausted. A last kiss and he put most of his weight on his elbow, lowering Arthur's hips back onto the mattress and settling on his side, pulling off the condoms. They'd need a wastebasket here eventually...

"Other side of the futon," Arthur said between breaths and pointed, "I brought it from your room the other night."

And they had finally reached the mind reading stage of their relationship. Perfect. A yawn and Eames rolled over to dump the garbage where it belonged before resuming his place at Arthur's side. "You don't need to go anywhere right now, I hope?" he murmured, tucking himself close. It was warm enough to forgo the blankets for a while yet.

"Yeah," Arthur yawned back, "I'm actually running late. I was supposed to meet this guy at the bar..." he said and shifted to gently kick at Eames. He settled back in, one arm looping around Eames' side so he could trace his fingers lightly over his spine as his eyes drifted closed.

"I meant, like, the bathroom or something," Eames sighed before giving up trying to be conscious and drifting off as well.

The next morning was just as blissful. Eames got to watch Arthur parade about naked, gathering up his clothes, then cooked him breakfast, though Arthur insisted on making himself lunch. Renate Kinsley was apparently getting in with her husband and a certain Ts'ao later in the day so at least Eames didn't feel guilty about leaving Arthur with nothing to do. This Ts'ao had been a member of Arthur's squad as well. Should be interesting.

"And for the sake of full disclosure, I've had sex with him a few times," Arthur said after Eames agreed to meet up after work. Which was an odd thing to mention - it wasn't like Eames cared - but interesting to know nonetheless.

Arthur repaid breakfast by chasing Eames out of his own kitchen, then sending him a message without any prompting in the middle of the day. Eames smiled and herded his father into an early lunch, tucking himself into a corner so he could call rather than message back.

It was utterly and disgustingly domestic but Eames couldn't say he didn't absolutely love it. Arthur even admitted that the house was boring without everyone there, but the sparkle in his eye told Eames that it was going to be as close as Arthur was going to admit to missing him. He had messaged first after all. Eventually they agreed that Arthur would keep Eames updated to where he would be meeting up with his friends and Eames had to go back to work.

The message had come soon enough that Eames hadn't started considering the possibility of leaving Arthur alone to catch up. A war was a war and while a father-and-son relationship might change in five years, it was hard to say what was going to happen to opposite sides in seven. Hopefully they had some prior warning... On the other hand, it might not be wise to bring the fact up at all. Eames could only roll his eyes at himself, soon he was going to start worrying about what he should wear. He'd taken care of that earlier thankfully and it was fully appropriate for the establishment and he was going to cease over-thinking immediately.

Driving back was quick and his father chased him away from the kitchen almost immediately, citing that he wasn't even doing the cooking right, not to mention had other places to be. Showering and changing, Eames grabbed the keys and headed out, thankfully cutting his ride short as he went against traffic. The restaurant was easy to find as well and the one full booth stood out almost immediately. It was a relief that there was room for one more, although he was willing to skip eating if it proved to be an inconvenience. It was easier to decide that than accept the fact that he was nervous.

"Evening - Hope I didn't miss much," he sat down in the open spot with a smile.

"Helloo handsome," the woman who he assumed to be Renate purred, while Arthur glowered. He gestured to the man beside her dramatically and clumsily as he protested, "You _have_ a husband. He's right _there_." Renate smiled at him and took his hands in hers. Arthur frowned at that, too. He was so plastered.

"I know," she soothed, "I know he's yours, but it's my legs I lost in the war not my eyes. He's very handsome, isn't he?"

Arthur nodded, bobbing his head as she rubbed his arms.

"I'm Jon, her husband, by the way," Jon chimed in cheerfully as he reached across empty glasses in an effort to shake hands. "Designated driver," he added, "so feel free to drink up." He pointed to Ts'ao and introduced him, seated on the other side of Arthur. Ts'ao studied him, and then shook his head as he took a sip.

"Here," Ts'ao said and passed what was left of his Long Island to Arthur, who pounced on it and then noticed Eames again and lit up.

"Hi," he greeted, and downed the last of Ts'ao's drink, "How was work? Do you wanna drink?" He pointed at Jon, "That's Jon, he's driver." Arthur frowned and tried again, "Designated driver."

"Eames," he introduced himself, answering the compliments with a smile and standing slightly so it was easier to shake hands with Jon. He settled easily at the cheeriness. He hadn't been sure how to introduce himself, how Arthur had mentioned him, but this was easy. "That's all well and good but I can't just leave my transport here either; of course, not like that's stopped me before. Although I see you've been having fun." Arthur could probably stand to be cut off now, considering the amount of mistakes and warbling going on. Still, that wasn't going to be his first action as soon as he sat down and it wasn't six shots, so it couldn't be approaching dangerous. The drink could stay. "I'm going to eat if you don't mind," he said before surrendering his unopened menu with an order to the waiter. "How long _has_ it been since Arthur here has seen you all?"

"Nine fukking years, the squirrelly bastard. Bought me new legs and set up college funds for my kids, but can't send a wave," Renate nearly shouted. Arthur looked at Eames like he couldn't understand why he would betray him this way by bringing it up and sullenly continued drinking his beverage. A laugh and Eames put his hands into the crook of Arthur's elbow, pacifying. "Nine.Years. Nine--" but Jon cut in, "This is my first time meeting Arthur."

"Seven, almost eight," Ts'ao answered, after he subtly ordered another drink. "How long have you known him?"

He was the least drunk, along with Jon, and Renate, who seemed to be the most enthused about meeting Arthur again, was as drunk as Arthur. Jon was weathering it with amusement and Ts'ao seemed to be sulking and avoiding eye contact for no reason Eames could ascertain. Perhaps it was in comparison to the rest but certainly he should be happier after almost eight years of no news. "Um," it was actually a difficult question considering he didn't quite know where to count from. "Well, if you count the time-" oh right, these were Alliance folk... "he failed to arrest me," Eames continued, in less detail than he would typically, "two months now, I believe. One of which was spent crash landed and sharing a tent on a virtually undetectable planet, so it feels longer than that."

Arthur settled, and with a little bit of effort put his hand on top of Eames', as Renate continued to berate him for waiting so long, while Jon tried to keep the volume of their conversation acceptable, and steer it to a less passionate topic: "Eames has shared a tent with Arthur, why don't you tell--" but Renate didn't need him to finish the sentence, as her attention whipped to Eames. "Did he do the thing?" she asked, "He always puts himself in front of the entrance. No. Wait. Behind it, but the other side. Behind the inside."

"What?" Arthur asked, brow furrowed, before he looked at Eames for help.

Ts'ao shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

"She means, did Arthur put himself between you and the entrance," Jon clarified, and Renate beamed at him, leaning towards him to nuzzle into his cheek. "Not the story I was hoping for, but maybe another night." She stopped nuzzling and pinched him.

"He did, it's terrible. You can't even go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without waking him and needing to explain yourself." Not that had ever happened, considering how exhausted they'd been each day, but it would have at some point. Eames paused to accept the drink he'd ordered from the water, the other one going to Ts'ao. "But, although I know we're all here for this darling," he lifted his hand on Arthur's elbow briefly, putting it back down afterwards, "I'd like to hear about you all, where you're from and what you do." It was best to keep it the conversation to that side of the topic: Renate was certainly talkative enough and he wasn't sure how much he should share, considering the degree of inebriation. It could be fine, it could be unpredictable. Not to mention he didn't exactly want to sit there and brag or take up the whole conversation either.

Renate barked out a laugh, and then tried to shush herself. Arthur frowned unhappily at Eames, once again looking betrayed, until Renate started talking again. "Santo, and I manage a casino and I swear to god, Arthur if you show up with those rigged dice I will have your balls, and then your boyfriend won't like me very much."

Arthur laughed, and it took him a moment to recover. "You're still mad?" he asked, grinning at her as she exclaimed yes. Very much so.

"Rigged dice? Arthur - that's Ts'ao's, I'm pretty sure," Eames broke his sentence to push the drink Arthur was falling upon a little further down the table, replacing it with a hand on nape of Arthur's neck before continuing, "I am appalled. And here I thought you only counted cards because I cheat. I guess you wouldn't like either of us at your casino then?" he was distracted from continuing as his food arrived, forcing him to remove his hand at the same time. "And you?" he turned to T'sao this time. He could at least try to engage the man in conversation - thirdwheeling in what was apparently a double date now was never fun.

Arthur watched as the drink was pushed away, and almost went for it again, but quieted at the hand on his neck. His attention was back on Eames, smiling slyly as Eames expressed his surprise. The expression shifted to one of longing as food was brought out, which sent Renate laughing and managing breathless exclamations with the word face as the only decipherable one.

"You can have it, Arthur," Ts'ao said as he pushed his drink back towards Arthur. Arthur leapt on it, distracted from Eames' food. "Boros," Ts'ao answered.

"He was an assembly line worker," Arthur added, "for the ships."

"That's right," Ts'ao said, and Arthur beamed as he took another sip. "And what do you do, Eames?"

"I see, how is that working for you? And I'm a mechanic, our shop is actually in the city - Arthur, you can have some, have you not been eating, I can order more." Eames cast a bewildered look around the table before shifting his fork to Arthur's side. It could have been an hour or so since they had finished their meal. Hopefully that was the case, because otherwise Arthur might not be able to stand when it was time to leave. Everyone else was of lesser concern although clearly Ts'ao was bent on getting Arthur even more drunk than he was already. Eames wasn't really up for carrying Arthur when it came time to head back.

Arthur stopped drinking and gladly took up Eames' fork, pilfering a few bites before offering it back. "No, no, we ate," he answered, "when did we eat?" He asked the table. Jon smiled at him.

"Not even an hour ago," he answered.

Renate grinned. "Someone's been gettin' some," she teased, and then looked at Eames, "he eats a lot when he's been kept satisfied." She tried for a wink, but it missed the mark. Arthur pulled away, embarrassed, and left Eames to eat his own food. 

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"Just order something yourself," Ts'ao sniped as Arthur tried to make himself smaller.

Eames pushed his plate towards Arthur, replacing the hand on his neck. Arthur calmed, but didn't touch the food yet, still guilty and a little embarrassed. He wasn't that hungry that he couldn't wait a little bit longer and there was no need to be snappish about it - it was useless on drunk people anyway. Not to mention he was far too sober for this. Fortunately another waitress was around so he could reorder without too much fuss. "So how is that business on Boros going?" he asked, more to distract than out of wanting a straight answer. "What sort of ships are you making? I've always wanted to look at the innards of a cruiser, but they're far too big to come in to a shop for repairs and you still need a whole department to tackle a simple blown fuse or cracked LED."

"Look, buddy, I don't want to sit here and make nice with you. Arthur will be done with you in a week, a month tops, so don't worry your pretty little head about memorizing his friends' names and faces, because you're never going to need this information," Ts'ao said as he tilted his glass back and chewed on the ice.

"Ts'ao!" Renate shouted, while Arthur sat, stunned.

"Oh, I'm sorry, is that what's eating you?" The shouting left his ears somewhat ringing but having to deal with drunken conversation already left him unruffled by most outburts. Coming straight on the heels of something else that would probably have never been said in public if there hadn't been alcohol involved, the statement wasn't that perturbing. If this had something to do with the sex they had seven or eight years ago, it was far too below him to even acknowledge. He kept his hand where it was, leaning his other elbow on the table. "So you're not here to wish your dear friend here a happy life? You're here to ruin everyone's good time with dire prognoses? I can understand not wanting to make nice with me, but putting a whole reunion at risk is rather rude, don't you think?"

Ts'ao snorted and clucked his tongue. "Yeah. Dear friend. Like anyone could be friends with that fucking heartless--"

"Ts'ao," Renate cut in, "I am warning you, right fucking now, if you don't shut your gorram face I will make you suffer--"

"What? Because I called him what he is? I've told him he was a slut before, I'll say it again--"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Arthur's hand found Eames thigh and he gripped it tightly. "Eames, I want to go home," he whined.

Well, _now_ Eames certainly had a few choice words to say but Arthur's grip on his thigh brought his attention back a little bit closer to home. This wasn't his fight, after all, and his primary concern was Arthur, as it always was. Interfering with whatever this weird jealous streak was wasn't going to change a thing, even if he might like to. "Alright, we can go," he said softly instead, standing in the hopes that they could at least get outside without much incident. After that he could pay for at least his meal and if he was fortunate get it wrapped to go. He was still hungry.

Arthur followed on shakier legs and started walking away from the as the argument shifted to the fact that Arthur was now leaving, and staff stepped in to ask them to quiet.

Eames detoured shortly by a waiter to ask for his portion and a bill to be brought outside before slipping his arm around Arthur's shoulders, offering support. Frankly, he was beginning to get somewhat angry - what the hell had the guy even come for if all he was going to do was fling derogatory terms at the person he'd come to see? "You alright?" he asked as soon as they got out the door, the entrance off the main street somewhat and in relative quiet. And it had started out as a pleasant evening. Hopefully they could meet up with the other two at some other time.

"Yeah," Arthur said, and stood quietly at first, trying not to lean too heavily on Eames. "I'm sorry," he said, miserable and guilty, and then he repeated it, "I'msosorry. I asked you to come, so far, and I- I ate your food," he said, and swiftly grew alarmed, "You din't get any food! Eames, Eames, Eames, I'm sorry, we-- food, we should get food."

"Whoah, alright, you really are drunk," Eames pulled, bringing Arthur a little bit closer and placing a hand on his cheek. "It's alright, it's fine, they'll bring out the food in a minute. Don't worry. And it wasn't even that far and it was fun while it lasted. We'll see Renate and Jon again, I guarantee you. And everything will be right again. Not to fret."

"I din't mean to be so drunk. Are you sure I am drink?" Arthur asked, suddenly suspicious. "I want to sit." Arthur decided and lowered himself to the ground, sliding and wiggling out of Eames hold.

"I'm pretty sure you're drink," Eames confirmed, smiling and letting Arthur take a seat. "We don't have that long to sit and wait around. You sure you don't want to wait a bit until we're in the transport so you can sit then?" He really didn't want to be carrying anybody, especially Arthur and especially through Yartis.

"No," Arthur said sourly, and leaned against Eames' legs.

A waiter approached soon with Eames' dinner. The payment was quick, thankfully although the waiter had divided Arthur's portion of drinks into the total as well which was an eyebrow raising number. And apparently not all either, given how he's seen Ts'ao order and then palm it off to Arthur. At least it was during the course of several hours. Eames paid, glad to see that both orders of food had been packed to go. If Arthur was still hungry, there was something for him and if he wasn't it could as easily be saved for later. "You asleep?" he crouched down to Arthur's level, pressing his hand to Arthur's neck again. It had only been five minutes but. "Come on, we can go."

Arthur smiled and leaned in for a soft kiss, rising carefully to his feet. "Where did you transport the park?"

So drunk Eames was forced to admit it was adorable. "Not too far, come on." At least Arthur had settled in regards to food and the night and had stopped apologizing for everything. He offered his shoulder and arm again for support, at least so they could walk faster. "Just around the corner over there."

Arthur kept up with the extra help, following Eames without fuss. "Food smells good. Is there water? Can I have water?" He asked, leaning to try and peer into the bag. He stopped as his balance shifted and he straightened to avoid toppling over. "My equilibrium is askew," he informed Eames, and gripped him just a bit tighter as they rounded the corner.

"There's water in the transport," Eames almost laughed, half impressed that Arthur managed a complex word like equilibrium without tripping up on it. There was always water in the transport and it's not even that late - barely seven and the sun had only begun to think about setting. Getting that drunk so early was actually impressive and Eames was glad he'd finished at least one of his own drinks so he didn't feel too left out. They might as well finish dinner in the transport then although maybe it's better to park Arthur on the hood of the car, just in case his stomach decided to revolt. "Here, stay," Eames said, ducking out of Arthur's arm and placing the bag on the hood beside. "I'll go get the water."

"Eames," Arthur called in a couple of seconds, "there's no water."

He was laughing openly now, grabbing the bottle from the trunk and walking back around to see Arthur had undone the plastic bag instead of waiting like he was told. "Here you go," Eames offered the bottle, before checking in the bag itself. Ah, there were no forks. They would just have to use their fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Arthur said, smiling back and drinking from the bottle.

Eames couldn't be sure if he should press for information now or later so he watched Arthur drink instead, leaning on the trunk. "Do you still want to go home?" They could probably get some forks from a stand if they wanted to and while he really didn't fancy staying in Yartis there were plenty of places to sit and eat outside the city as well.

Arthur pulled the bottle away and licked at the excess water. "Do you?"

"Not particularly. It's nice outside. We can stay out a little bit longer while you sober up. Unless you are actually liable to pass out at moments notice, which has happened, in which case probably best to head back." Eames studied Arthur for any sign of an impending narcoleptic incident, not that he could tell what signs it would have.

Arthur frowned at him, wrinkling his nose before he opened his mouth to protest that he wouldn't pass out, he wasn't that drunk, but he heard a woman's voice calling out his name.

"Wave him, let's wave him. Arthur!" she shouted. Arthur stepped away from the transport, following the shouts and peeking around the corner.

"Arthur!" Renate shouted excitedly and hurried to pull him into a hug, pushing him into the wall. Probably for the best given his buckling legs, but he wrapped his arms around her tightly. Jon trotted up and offered a contrite smile to Eames. "Maybe should have cut her off earlier," he said, laughing. "I wish that neck trick worked half as well on her, sometimes."

"What neck trick?" Eames asked, nearing as well. At the very least it didn't look like there had been a fight or that any good moods had been particularly ruined. And if they were staying, it was probably best to find some place he and Arthur, if he still wanted, could eat. "I assume everything is peachy now?"

Arthur and Renate remained entangled, each clinging to the other, and blind to everything else at the moment. "Oh," Jon said in response to Eames, "the thing where you grabbed the back of his neck? He relaxed in like an instant. I tried to cut him off earlier, but he wouldn't have it and he didn't seem that bad off so I backed off. I dunno, maybe it's just you. But yeah everything's fine, could you keep an eye on Renate though? I've gotta drive Ts'ao back, I doubt he's in good shape with that attitude," Jon said, casting an eye towards his wife, still content to hold on to Arthur.

"Oh." Eames hadn't even acknowledged it that much, it was a simple gesture to show his support or that he wasn't upset. He hadn't realized it had such a profound effect. Like a kitten. It birthed another laugh as he shook his head.

"And I may not know Arthur, but with how often he was checking the clock before you showed up..." Jon shrugged. "You guys can either head back inside, or take them somewhere. My number is in Renate's phone, and I'm pretty sure Arthur took mine down in this," he added and passed Eames the pad. "Just, uh, try to keep it down. We were on thin ice inside."

"Probably best not to go back in. I was thinking of going to a park or something, where they could be loud at their own leisure." It was up to him to take care of the drunkards it seemed. Not that a park was the best place but it wasn't inside a restaurant either. "I'll contact you when I decide where to settle them."

Jon peeled off in the direction Ts'ao must have stormed off and Renate tried to follow and to get Arthur to follow as well although Arthur remained planted against the wall. "C'mon," she tried to coax, but Arthur wasn't moved.

"Alright," he resisted saying _kids_ , "Arthur was still hungry when we left and so was I. Jon is going to come back - let's go find a place to settle and finish eating and you guys can continue to catch up. So the transport is waiting." Eames gestured behind himself. He also had to remember to take the food off the hood before they drove off.

Arthur immediately sprung into action, teetering towards the transport and bringing Renate along with him. Eames was _officially_ far too sober for this. He went to open the door instead of watching the two huddle, wondering how Jon handled it - there was no way a little annoyance wasn't showing and the man had seemed perfectly composed. Well, it didn't matter. He whistled, gesturing to the back seat. "Come on in."

They piled in the backseat, laughing hysterically when they bumped into each other. Arthur had a moment of clarity and sat up straight. "Eames, Eames the food." He leaned out of the door to point towards the hood.

"Yes, yes, I remember your food," Eames assured, trying not to laugh again. _Children_. "Alright, no one throw up back there or you lose drinking rights for the next year." Not that he had any way to enforce that. Eames ducked out, closing the door and grabbing the bag before sitting in the driver's seat and starting.

"Your boyfriend is mean," Renate said in what she probably thought was a whisper.

"He's not," Arthur corrected, also failing to whisper, "he's an ass. A nice ass."

Renate snickered, "You mean, he has a nice ass?" Arthur grinned, and she laughed harder, tumbling into his lap, which set him off again, and he tumbled over top her, laughing until they fell asleep during the drive.

Eames rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile. That park hadn't even been that far away. He parked the transport near it anyway, opening both front doors so the car didn't smell too badly, taking a perch on the hood of the car to finish eating and send a wave to Jon. It was only now getting dark and hopefully he could wake Arthur up when they got home. Otherwise it was the couch for him.

Arthur woke eventually and ventured outside. He looked a bit more sober and offered a more subdued smile than the one he'd shown at dinner when he saw Eames. He hopped up on the hood too, in time to hear Jon explain he'd gotten Ts'ao back aboard his ship and would be there to pick up Renate soon.

"Is Ts'ao okay?" Arthur asked. Back aboard the ship didn't tell him much.

Eames handed off the bag, keeping his portion on his lap. "Is Ts'ao alright? Are _you_ alright?" he said incredulously. "All he did was slander you and storm off. He wasn't particularly happy the rest of the time I saw him either. Why did he even bother coming at all if he was going to do was make a fuss?" He didn't get the best first impression, of course, but he couldn't say which was the effect of the alcohol - the silence or the abuse - so he chalked it all up to a terrible personality. "Trying to give you alcohol poisoning, too - not drinking anything himself though." A huff.

"He had alcohol! He had more drinks than you, when you said the thing. You don't even know him, you're just mad because I used to have sex with him all the time!" Arthur slid off the hood and circled around to drop into the passenger's side of the transport and slam the door. He went so far as close the other door and lock them all.

Right, too early then. A sigh and Eames patted his pockets, making sure he had taken the keys out of the transport. He had fortunately, but he stayed in his spot, continuing eating. Alcohol didn't bring out the worst in people, whatever had caused that outburst had to have already been there. Not that he could count on Arthur to understand that at the moment. Hopefully Jon would get here soon. As much as the night had still been alright even after they left the restaurant, having even a drunk Arthur angry at him immediately made everything worse.

Jon arrived eventually, apologizing for foisting his wife on him. Eames waved him off. "Oh, it was no problem at all - it's lucky that they're both sleepy drunks. She's in the backseat - oh, good morning, Arthur." Arthur had climbed back out again. "Mind unlocking the rest of the doors?" Eames hadn't moved far from his spot besides leaving to throw out the garbage at one point. At his point he would just like to go home and sleep.

Arthur nodded, and turned around to climb back into the transport and undo the locks. Jon thanked him, and then Eames, more properly as he carefully pulled Renate out. He didn't have any trouble until it came to her legs, but those he didn't have to worry about injuring. Not that it stopped Renate from waking back up in time to see Arthur climbing into the passenger seat. "Come with us," she pleaded softly, and started pushing at Jon, who patiently stopped and waited for the squirming to cease. "Tell Arthur he can come with us," she said, and Jon indulged. Arthur shook his head.

"Home," he said, and then looked around to find Eames, while Jon tried to placate Renate. Shushing her and explaining Arthur wanted to be with his boyfriend. She seemed to have some understanding and settled, allowing her husband to put her inside their transport. Jon held his hand up in a wave, before he slid inside his vehicle and took off.

Even if it hadn't resolved itself, there was no way Eames could have forced those words out of himself. He'd answered the question of how long they'd known each other easily enough but how long they'd been together, how long ago Arthur had said he needed him and wanted to stay... Letting him leave now was impossible. He sat into the driver's seat, starting and pulling onto the road as well. "You going to fall asleep again?" he asked, just in case he needed to talk or put on music to prevent Arthur from drifting off too early.

"No," Arthur said quickly, "No, I'm not." He shifted a little more upright in his seat and shook his head to further wake himself. "Remind me to drink more water," he said, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry I drank so much," he added, speech slow but only slightly slurred, "you didn't have fun."

Eames hummed an agreement. There was no way he could possibly insist otherwise. "It's alright. That's what I get for showing up late. I'm sure it was more fun beforehand. Seem like a fun bunch when they're sober," he said, avoiding mentioning Ts'ao. It made no difference what his problem was and Eames couldn't fix it. He should have figured. Meeting people while they were drunk was a recipe for failure.

Arthur was quiet for a little bit before suddenly: "Are you going to take advantage of me?"

"Am I going to what?" Eames blinked rapidly, taking his eyes off the road to turn his head to look, concerned, at Arthur. He could even name what sort of advantage Arthur meant. Lugging him around while he could barely move didn't seem very enticing and neither did exiling him to the couch or something. As for sex, Arthur should know better.

Arthur leaned in and failed to whisper, "You know. Take advantage. Are you going to have sex with me?" He shifted back and added a soft, "Please."

"Oh, jesus, Arthur, really? Is this a thing?" Eames turned his attention back to the road, focusing on it and forgetting the fact that Ts'ao had been all but prying Arthur with drinks. At the same time, he was having a hard time saying no, even though it was almost guaranteed to be impossible. "How about a deal: if you don't fall asleep immediately upon contact with the bed, was can. But you have to brush your teeth and undress first."

Arthur nodded eagerly and settled in for the drive home. Eames shook his head but stepped on the gas, hoping to make it back home so Arthur could try to complete the two things he'd agreed to. The lights were still on but just in his father's room, which meant he must have already gotten through his evening ritual. All the better. "Alright, we're here," he said, shutting off the engine.

Sobered enough to manage by himself, Arthur carefully exited the transport and made his way towards the door. He waited impatiently for Eames before he let himself inside and immediately headed for the bathroom. A soft laugh and Eames followed, running through his own evening with a less hurried pace. It wasn't that late so he couldn't say he was sleepy but Arthur would probably need some time to actually fall fully asleep. He paused downstairs to consider a book before shrugging and abandoning the idea to head upstairs to check on Arthur.

Arthur was on his back with his trousers halfway off, sleeping sprawled over the mattress.

He didn't even get that far. Eames was split between loudly rolling his eyes and dissolving into laughter. He settled instead on carefully undressing Arthur, moving each limb carefully from spot to spot in hopes not to disturb Arthur's sleep. That done and Arthur successfully tucked in, he quickly grabbed the book he'd meant to before and undressed, sliding into bed for a bit to read and then finally go to sleep himself.

Arthur rolled and latched onto Eames immediately after he returned, curling around and half on top. Octopus. Although they seemed to be taking turns with this whole clinging business. Eames let Arthur take over his lap and partially his stomach, resting the book on top of Arthur's head. If the light and movement didn't wake him the slight pressure would hardly make much of a difference.

Gradually Arthur uncurled himself, until he was distributing his weight more evenly on top of Eames, shifting a bit until Eames took pity and closed his book, belatedly thinking that he should have brought up more water. But it was too late for that now that Arthur had him in his clutches and Eames could only slide down, get as comfortable as possible and fold his hands on the small of Arthur's back, slowly falling asleep.

The next time Eames got any sensible conversation out of Arthur it was the afternoon and he was at work, waving Arthur during lunch.

"Glad I brought this down," Arthur said, looking like he was nursing a light headache. But it looked like Arthur had found the painkillers Eames had left him. "Everything going alright?"

"Yeah, it's both busy and not, I guess you can say. Busy in the sense that there are tons of new orders pouring in and not because no one wants to do shit on a Friday." Eames sighed noisily, rolling his eyes. "Dad was having a fit earlier. How long have you been up? I hadn't wanted to wake you."

"Ts'ao waved about two hours ago, I've been up since then. He sends his apologies, by the way, and he wants to meet up again. I'll probably head out after this," Arthur said, and made a show of continuing to eat his salad so Eames wouldn't feel the need to chastise him. "I don't know what we're doing, but I'll message you. But you don't have to come."

Eames didn't want to come, exactly, and the part of him that did was only even considering it because of some protective feeling. At the same time, he didn't have any excuse or plans for the evening either and would only be worried sick. He smiled at the salad. "Is there going to be more drinking?" he asked before making his decision.

"No," Arthur said swiftly, "or I won't be at least. Renate probably won't be interested in drinking either. But I repeat, you don't have to come."

Alright so Renate would be there, and so would Jon most likely. That settled him somewhat. "Well, I would have come if there _was_ drinking," he joked before shrugging. "Have fun then, give them my regards."

"I will," Arthur said simply. "I guess I'll see you later tonight," he added.

"Just tell me where you're going to be anyway? If I really do get bored, I'll pop over." Or at least he would have a bit of information he could worry over as opposed to none at all. It was probably best to prolong their stay at the garage then. At least he knew his father wouldn't complain and they both had things to be doing. It was a waste of a Friday night, perhaps, but he didn't want to be the hovering boyfriend sort no matter how uncomfortable he was with the idea that Arthur was going to be around Ts'ao again. Still, if they insisted he come he wouldn't really resist.

"Sure," Arthur said, "How much longer is your break?"

"It's not really official so until I get yelled at I suppose. And the garage is pretty big so that might be a while yet." They hadn't had much of a chance to talk last night or in the morning. "Why? Would you like me to get you up to speed about how increasingly annoying and adorable you are when you're drunk?"

Arthur scowled at him. "Oh, I'm sure you're a pleasure to be around when you're intoxicated. I hope it wasn't that bad."

"Well, here's a question for you, are you always horny when you're intoxicated? Two out of three times is still a majority, you know." Eames couldn't do much to defend his own behavior under the influence.

"What?" Arthur asked, blushing and he brought his hand to his forehead, hiding his eyes. "How bad was I?"

"Not that bad. I made a deal that you'd only get any if you brushed your teeth and got into bed yourself. Unfortunately you passed out somewhere in the middle of taking off your trousers." Eames grinned, half laughing. "And you were so _concerned_ too, that I wasn't going to 'take advantage', it's not like I could have outright told you no."

"Take advantage?" Arthur groaned. "You can turn me down if it ever happens again," he forced out through his embarrassment.

"But how can I, you were so concerned. Not to mention even though you slept a couple of times during the ride to the park and home, there was no way you weren't going to sleep as soon as you ended up horizontal. It wasn't that much of a problem." Eames laughed again, shaking his head.

Arthur's ears were still red, but he had at least managed to look back up at Eames rather than into the table. "And wanting to have sex with you is a lot better than wandering off in the woods with a hole in my shoulder hoping to find someone," he retaliated.

"I was high, mind, and it was less woods, more a couple of trees in a plain. And it was to find you cause you wouldn't come. The hole in my shoulder is still there, you know, and you let me wander off now."

"My argument still stands. What I did was far more rational. And the hole in your shoulder is at least more healed than it was then. I'm still not sure I've forgiven Yusuf for not watching you while you were that messed up," Arthur admitted.

"He had like ten other things to do and I really don't think he was expecting me to get up and walk off. Most people don't after all. So it wasn't exactly his fault." He could only vaguely remember what had happened, the memory blurry with the drugs.

"He could have asked someone to watch you," Arthur maintained stubbornly. "It doesn't matter what he expected. You could have rolled over and torn your stitches, losing even more blood--" Arthur looked away.

"Oh come now. One stroke of bad luck is hardly ever followed by another one, and even if it does sometimes, I'm not that unlucky. And besides, the past is the past, you shouldn't worry so much over it. It turned out perfectly, well, didn't it? I'm alive and healthy and my pull up count is slowly growing. I can even lift you," Eames grinned saucily. The chances that he would have rolled over were about as high as him walking into oncoming traffic and he hadn't done that either.

"Lift me? If you're referring to what I think you are, I did most of the work. My abdominal muscles can attest to that." Arthur was relaxing, which was great.

"Because it wasn't like your legs were putting all of you weight on my back, right?" Eames laughed, shaking his head. "I think you're giving yourself a bit too much credit here."

"Do you want to test that theory?" Arthur challenged, smirking.

"Put that way of course I want to test it. That's barely even a question. Considering how little help you were when I was in your place." He could vaguely remember that his shoulder had smarted at least a little but that was long lost in the overall bliss of that night. But that didn't mean he couldn't hold it against Arthur.

They argued about it for a little while longer until Eames really couldn't delay going back to work any further.

When evening did come, Eames tried to delay it, turning to work rather than considering going home when Arthur wasn't there. But there was only so much time he could waste puttering around the garage and his father needed rest. Eames had let go of his worry about Ts'ao at the very least and was now only suffering from a mild case of boredom brought upon by Arthur's absence. Dinner had come and gone and his father had gone to bed - Eames was in the middle of rereading _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ for the umpteenth time, this time starting from a random point in the book just to keep things interesting. Arthur had messaged a while back that he would probably be out late but Eames kept the comm on him, just in case - Arthur would probably either message or wave once they were heading back. It rang and Eames picked it up almost instantly, propping the book open against his knee. "Coming- ah. Ts'ao, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The man smiled, a strange, forced thing. If this was going to be an apology Eames was not going to believe it. "I need a favor from you, actually. Are you alone right now? It's a bit personal."

"Sure, fire away," Eames allowed, settling back on the couch. He doubted it could be anything good but he was willing to entertain whatever it was Ts'ao wanted.

"I'm going to make this very simple," Ts'ao announced, "end things with Arthur, or I send a picture of him alive and well to the Alliance." His smile turned nasty, "And I don't want, a sorry, it's not you it's me. I want you to spit in his face. I'm sure you guys have run into a bit of trouble. Arthur's a persnickety bitch when he isn't whoring himself. I want you to make sure he knows it's his fault, that he wasn't good enough, whatever you think will do the most harm. And I want you to record it, I want to see it."

Eames' eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he immediately shut down any anger or surprise except for his first reaction, simply blinking as Ts'ao talked. What the hell..? "And why do you want that? That's one hell of a favor considering I barely know you, not to mention the Alliance isn't going to have an easy time finding him on a planet that's always been Independent." They had been planning on leaving in a week anyway, so if he could find some way to stall time, he would owe this asshole nothing.

"I can give them all the information they need on you too, and really, I'm doing you a favor. That's a snake you're curling up to every night, and you might think he's there because he likes you, but really he's just using you for warmth until someone better and more useful to him comes along. Trust me. Arthur doesn't know what love is, and he doesn't care to learn. So. End it, or I tell the Alliance everything I know."

"So you're doing me a favor..." Eames shifted, trying not to actually lose his temper. It was both a pity and a good thing that this wasn't a face to face chat - he wouldn't be able to resist imprinting his knuckles into the smug bastard's face. "But why are you doing me a favor? You don't seem to like me much either - couldn't even hold a conversation to be polite. And where is everyone? Did you steal Arthur's pad just to send me this message?"

"Why does it matter so much? Do it, within the next few days, or I report everything. That's all you need to know isn't it?"

"Alright, where am I supposed to send this video? And how much time do I have?" He might as well cut to the chase. Ts'ao didn't seem to be in the mood to monologue.

"I have my own pad," Ts'ao said, "You can send it to this number. You have two days to do it, and the clock starts now." The transmission ended.

Eames threw the comm against the wall as soon as it blinked out. If it broke, it was for the best. Furious barely even covered it, who the fuck did this guy think he was? And he never got the reason for it either although it probably wouldn't have made much of a difference. A sigh and he wiped his hand across his eyes, trying to get some modicum of control of himself. What the fuck.

By the time Arthur came home, Eames relocated himself to the third rung of the ladder leading to the loft, still brooding. "Did you have fun?" he asked with a sigh, holding out his hands. Right now he just wanted some touch, the problem would wait until he could bring it up with at least half of a calm facade.

Arthur just frowned and waved the broken comm at him. "Did you get in a fight with George?" he tried, "What happened?"

"Ts'ao waved." Arthur was probably concerned and there wasn't much he could do to put off the topic. Still, he'd missed Arthur and the whole story didn't deserve to suspend touch. "I missed you," he said, a touch grouchily.

"So you destroyed your comm? He said he wanted to apologize to you personally, could you at least... be civil?" Arthur asked, annoyed. "Jesus. We'll have to get a new one tomorrow if I can't fix it. What the hell did he say last night that bothered you so much?"

"Apologize?" Eames huffed. "I don't think it's broken although I haven't actually picked it up." There was no way getting around this apparently. "He called to say that unless I want photographic proof of the fact that you're alive sent to the Alliance, I not only have to break up with you but do it viciously and send the recording to his pad. And actually, I hope that thing broke because then I don't have the number and he can just go fuck himself for his two days." It was hard to stop the torrent of words now that they had broken loose and the least Eames could do was keep his voice down to a minimal level. "Who the hell does he think he is? Why the _fuck_ is this something he would want? Clearly it wasn't just last night and being drunk excused nothing. Are you sure he's your friend because that is not going to gorramn stop me from seeking his out and punching the living daylights out of him - pictures or no."

Arthur froze, staring. "We need to leave. Two days gives us a head start," he said, already moving past Eames and toward the stairs.

"Right now? How? Rook isn't ready. What about my dad?" Eames blinked in surprise, the sudden turn about knocking him out of his rut. He climbed the stairs as well, watching Arthur pack blankly. Leaving right now was nothing that had come to mind - he'd been too angry.

"Then I'll find my own ride and meet you later," Arthur answered, he pulled the comm out of his pocket and slid it towards Eames, "Find out if that still works. I've got to ditch the pad, I'll contact you at the repair shop. Get in touch with Renate, she'll teach you as much of the code as she remembers. Explain what happened to her, if I trust you, she'll trust you." He tossed two duffles downstairs and drew near, kissing Eames softly. "I'm sorry," he said quietly and then hurried downstairs.

"Where are you going to go?" He couldn't possibly say please don't leave no matter how much he wanted to. Arthur knew what was going on, or it seemed like he did, and apparently there was no time for explanation. Eames followed down the stairs anyway, half reaching out. "When is later? Is this really so bad?" As far as he could tell it was just one psycho and Arthur was acting like there was a whole organization after him. God, he'd thought Arthur would come and solve it or say it was some practical joke, of all the things, and Arthur was just running away. Away from Eames.

"Ts'ao's going to alert the Alliance no matter what we do. I know him, Eames," Arthur answered, "And I haven't come this far to get caught now. I'm taking the first flight out of the area. I don't know when I'll be able to get in touch again. Don't make this feel like a goodbye, God damn it Eames," Arthur warned, "We are going to meet up as soon as possible, and then we are going to make up for every second, you got that?"

"Got it," Eames confirmed, finally closing the couple of steps between them to steal a deeper kiss than what Arthur had taken. Arthur made a soft whining noise as the kiss broke. "I missed you for one day and gorramn was I looking forward to this weekend. As soon as it's something more concrete than later you tell me immediately," he stated, pressing his palm to Arthur's cheek. It looked like he was going to spend a lot of time at work for the next however long.

"I will. Get in touch with Renate, get her contact information and dispose of the pad. Try your best not to let Ts'ao know I'm gone. Renate will help," he said and snuck another kiss, "But when he finds out, fucking punch him for me. Christ."

"One more might just kill him and then I'd have an Alliance tail as well." Eames smiled this time, letting his hand drop after a squeeze to Arthur's shoulder. "Go on, then, or I'll never let you go." Three days. If it continued like this he might just go mad.

"Pack the rest of my stuff?" Arthur asked, though he must know he didn't need to. "And get some sleep," he added as he headed for the door.

Yet the next time Eames heard from Arthur was the next day and it was his father was saying that Arthur had called the shop, said that he _couldn't_ and that he was _sorry_ and promptly hung up. Eames growled, hit something and called Renate. He needed all the help he could get.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra warnings for suicidal ideation.

The comm screen clicked out and Arthur turned on his heel, heading out.

Pan knew better than to try and reason with him while he looked so shaken. There were moments you left a guy alone, and this was one of them, but Arthur had composed himself and made a quick exit without so much as word, which was a little annoying. Pan would have liked more of an explanation. It was Arthur though, and Arthur didn't do vulnerable when he could help it. Pan considered himself a nice guy: he'd let Arthur duck out and tend his wounds for a bit. Whoever Eames was, it must have been someone important.

He wasn't given much time to dwell on it, an incoming wave from a face he didn't recognize. It wasn't a happy face which only meant one thing. Pan started immediately: "Look, she never said she had a boyfriend, I swear I never woulda hooked up with her if I'd known she was your girl. When she finally did, I told her to get out. I don't do that kind of thing. I've been cheated on, it ain't right."

He'd received enough waves from angry lovers to know the drill.

"Unless that pronoun is a he and you just catapulted someone into space, I don't think we have a problem," the man on the other end of the line said. "Arthur just called my father several minutes ago and I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him I called back."

"Oh," Pan settled easily, and shifted from pleading to comfortably slouched, "Eames then? And whether I tell him or not, depends on what you have to say." Then something clicked, and he grew alarmed. "Wait. Did you unscramble my wave in, like, less than fifteen minutes? What the fuck? Oh jesus, Hale will fucking kill me if he finds out I didn't scramble it. I should have let him do it. Shiiiit."

"Renate gave me the number," Eames cut Pan off before he got too far into the ramble. "She recognized your ship from the rosters and it had only been docked for twenty minutes. But yeah. That's me." He sighed. "Okay, look. I don't know how much you know about the whole Alliance imbroglio that's going on but Arthur's decided to strike out on his own. My ship's out for another week and he promised me that he would tell me when he's found a safe place to lay low so I could come get him. Now he's going back on it. If I talk to him, he's not going to listen because he's trying to protect everyone under the stars. He's likely to ditch you, too, in fact." Another sigh. "The only thing I ask is if you could keep me updated as to his whereabouts, aliases, whatever you can. His trail is going to go cold after a week and I have no choice but to wait that long. I don't want to lose him because he has some idea stuck in his head."

"Yeah, I know about the whole Alliance crappola, which, seriously? There was so much bullshit I could smell it. Hale killing both Cobbs? Please. He also filled me in on Ts'ao, and I could strangle Renate for going to him just because he was a few days closer. That bastard does not deserve to be anywhere near Hale and I told her that, but oh, _no_ , Pan's just being Pan, Ts'ao didn't shout obscenities at Hale on a daily basis until even Dominic Cobb had to pull his head out of his fucking ass and transfer him. Kid's not heartless, Ts'ao just the kind of colossal dillweed even his mother couldn't love. Fuck that piece of shit," Pan prattled, and then stopped himself to study Eames.

He already knew Hale must have felt pretty strongly if he'd started choking up, and Eames seemed genuine. "We're landing on Sturges. Hale's planning to lay low and get his shit together, I'll stall him as long as I can, but if he really wants to get away from you... I'm going to help him do it. If you're going to scream and shout and call him a slut because he doesn't want to stay with you, I'll kill you myself. I'm already wanted for smuggling, gambling, stealing and a whole host of minor misdeeds, I don't mind adding murder to that list. Savvy?"

"Oh good, we're speaking the same language. Dillweed or no, Ts'ao fucked us over, Arthur panicked and I'm trying to pick up the pieces. If I can't convince Arthur that I'm not some damsel in need of protecting, that I have all the same credentials you do, in fact, then he can do whatever it is he'd like. There's not going to be any screaming or shouting or name calling. You tip him off, however, I'll punch you for good measure anyway, since I haven't had the chance to take it out on Ts'ao. I'm clear if you are."

Pan grinned. He liked this guy already. "Crystal. I'll keep your number and try to keep you updated. I hope you'll return the favor if Hale doesn't remember to wave every now and then when you take off together. He might think he's sneaky, but I'm pretty sure my mysterious benefactor is the same as Renate's, and Ellis' and Tam's and everyone else who's worked with Hale for more than a month. He's a piece of work, and as much as I love the little bastard, I'm sure as hell glad I'm not you." He laughed at his own joke, and then grew more serious, "For what it's worth, I haven't seen him like this since Su Lyn, and I hope you guys work it out."

"Mysterious benefactor?" Eames tilted his head.

"Whenever my ship has been impounded, which has only been twice, mind, someone anonymously pays the fee and gives it back to me. Left a little tracker, but I thought it was cute that Hale wanted to find me so I left it alone for the most part. Ditched it about a week ago for the sake of a surprise visit. Hale's never asked for anything, I assumed it was his way of telling me to go about my business." Pan explained.

He'd thought it a little strange the first time, but after a few ship repairs were also mysteriously paid for, he'd realized it must have been someone wealthy and the only wealthy person he knew who wouldn't extort him was Hale and, Alliance agent or not, the kid was loyal to a fault. Besides who else would it have been?

Eames opened his mouth before closing it with a snap. "That's somewhat creepy. He could just call."

Pan shrugged. "Hale's always been a little unorthodox. And you've really got to take what you can get with him." He swiped at his nose, a little proud of himself. "Asking him for more is like telling him he's not good enough. I blame Cobb for some that, you can only push someone so hard before they crack and retreat. I read that in a book."

"Did you? And what sort of book was that? Was this before or after you got your ship impounded that second time?"

Pan flipped Eames off good-naturedly. Condescending asshole. Hale was too, actually. "I read it in a learning book, what the fuck other kind of book would I have read it in, smart ass. And my impounded ship has nothin' to do with my reading material." He patted the console affectionately. "She's just got some character to her, that's all. Why don't you mind your own? At least _my_ ship's flying, and I've got Hale. So shit-sticks to you."

"In a learning book? The sort with letters or pictures? What sort of character does your ship even have? Does it suffer from kleptomania as well or is it stinking up the whole 'Verse with exhaust? Looks like a model that's older than mine and that's impressive. And I'd have you know that if Arthur didn't end up completely side tracking my plans by being set up like a ninny my ship would be in tip top shape, thank you. " Eames squinted. "Is that a pump valve from '95?"

Pan burst out laughing, "Ninny," he repeated only to start laughing again. "Do you call him that to his face? Oh, I think I'm crying," he made a show of wiping his eyes. "Just for that I'll let you slide. Whisky Tango is no klepto, nor is she a gassy gal. She's a classy broad, and I'll hear nothin' else from the likes of you. And it is indeed, a '95. That's an original part, with a few mods, but still in shape. Would you believe I bought this ship--" Footsteps. Pan ended the wave swiftly and opened up another channel. He'd said he wouldn't tip Hale off and he meant it. And it had been good timing, Arthur seemed to have put himself back together and was now looking to book a room.

"Just get one, cheaper, and we can put it in my name. C'mon, we were bunkbuddies once, and I just pulled your ass out of the fryer. The least you could do is catch me up," Pan cajoled, and it took a few more points and a few more minutes, but they had a shared room which made keeping Arthur detained much easier.

He'd call Eames back once it was safe, let him know which hotel and what room, and then hope everything worked out.

When they landed on Sturges, Pan had done his best to keep Eames updated, utilizing messages over waves since those could be sent more discreetly, and the more he saw, the more convinced he was Arthur would be better with Eames than without. Arthur had never been the friendliest, but he was never quite so robotic, moving from task to task on his checklist. He barely slept, and Pan was almost thankful, because when he finally did manage to sleep it was clogged with nightmares that woke them both. They didn't talk about it, or the circles forming under Arthur's eyes. At least he ate regularly, but with that same clockwork precision. Within a few days, Arthur had conjured a number of aliases, and Pan promised to talk to his guy about some Ident Cards, since the Milton ID was apparently unusable. He would admit, he was a little impressed; Arthur was thorough. Pan was half tempted to keep him.

_Where do you want to meet him? I'll see if I can get him there._

_Just tell me where it's easiest for me to get to him. I'll come there._

_I can have him at the hotel in about an hour, unless you wanna meet us for dinner. Hotel is better, harder for him to bolt,_ Pan sent quickly before he stepped out of his transport and walked with Arthur inside the small restaurant. Nice little place, just the right amount of grime to make it feel comfortable. Arthur was, of course, overdressed, in a fucking vest and dress pants that fit him like a glove. Whatever made him happy, which didn't seem to be much these days. Pan hadn't missed the way he'd frowned at the state of their room. The yellow floral decor was something that he evidently hadn't accounted for. The dust must've been a bother too, because Arthur had gone and bought himself a duster and set to work giving the place a cleaning it probably hadn't since since it's heyday. Nothing to be done about the peeling yellowed wallpaper, though.

_I'll be up in the room._

\---

Arthur headed upstairs while Pan excused himself to collect something he'd forgotten in the transport. He didn't see a reason to wait for him, and the piece of tape he'd set up was still exactly where it had been so his newly purchased gun remained concealed as he let himself in. Instinct kicked in at the sight of a body and he went for his weapon, but hesitated as he processed who was on his bed. Who was currently sitting up, rubbing an eye like he'd been sleeping. He froze.

"Eames?" he asked, almost afraid to believe it. Afraid to find himself dreaming. But he could trace over everything that had happened. He'd been at dinner, and before that he'd been at the local fitness center. He could go back to this morning. To yesterday morning. He couldn't have been dreaming. Hallucinating. Jesus fuck, was he hallucinating? He stepped back, closing the door quickly as his heart started to pound. He closed his eyes tightly and started to count to ten.

"Arthur! Ar- What are you doing?"

Arthur opened his eyes to find Eames standing in front of him, door open again, poised as if afraid Arthur would run, and for a moment he was stuck. Overwhelmed. Eames had tracked him down, he wasn't letting go. Arthur grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him forward into the hallways, pulling him into a tight embrace. How many times had they had this same argument? How many fucking times had it been said? Arthur didn't need to hear it again. "I'm sorry," he said, jumping over everything else. He held Eames tighter, and buried his face in Eames' neck.

Eames sighed, pulling some of Arthur's weight onto himself, carefully maneuvering his hands to rest on the base of Arthur's ribs. "Just don't do it again."

Arthur didn't have anything else to say, nothing felt right and he was still so overwhelmed. They couldn't stand in the hallway forever though, and he carefully pulled away as he fought to compose himself. "How did you find me?" He'd been careful, and if Eames could find him, there was a chance someone else could. He stepped past Eames and into the room, already prepared to grab his stuff, still neatly packed in case he needed to leave quickly.

"I was talking to Pan the whole time. Renate recognized the ship and it had only been docked for a little before it took off again and put us in contact. I think you're safe for the time being." Eames shut the door, hand remaining on the handle. "I would have gone straight to you but I was afraid you would have ran immediately and without Pan we would have no way of knowing where you ended up."

Arthur sighed, relieved, and dropped on to his bed. He smiled faintly when he noticed the rest of his things, bundled in duffel bags by the foot of his bed. "Bastard," he said quietly, but he supposed he should have been thankful. "I should have known. He kept asking why I was leaving you behind." It still felt heavy to say, and sorry never felt like enough. He stared down at the matted orange carpet between his feet as he rubbed his palm with a thumb. "I wanted to punch him. It made me miss you even more."

"I kept asking the same. Breaking a promise just because you came up with some idea..." Eames sighed, sitting as well, putting his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "And then at the very last moment I fell asleep. It was horrible, I'm embarrassed. All that hard work... I missed you too. Three days is not enough in any universe."

"I'm glad you got some sleep, you look tired," Arthur said, and leaned closer, much closer than necessary.

"Somewhat. I was spoiled by full nights with you. Going back to a three hour schedule was painful."

"And at least you knew what was going on, I... I wondered how you were constantly." Of course, he was sure the hints would have driven him insane. Would have made him ache. If he hadn't had so much to do, he probably would have gone insane. "I just wanted you to be safe." He looked up at Eames. "I shouldn't have trusted him. I should have told Renate not to trust him." His gaze fell back to the ground. "I can't fake my death a second time, we're going to be on the run for a long while."

Eames took Arthur's weight again, only pressing him closer as his arm wrapped around Arthur's shoulders. "What's done is done. As for running... If it's with you, I find I don't mind in the very least. I don't want to be safe: I can help you and I want to stay with you, not be relegated to the role of damsel you have to protect. Got that?"

"You don't have to be a damsel for me to want you safe," Arthur said, and smiled as he leaned in to kiss Eames softly. "Why do you always come after me?" he asked softly, foreheads still gently pressed together.

Eames sighed noisily, pressing his palm to Arthur's jaw. "You don't have to be alone, even when you're in trouble. I want to help and you know I can. Just because something went wrong doesn't mean I'll leave. And what part of I love you don't you understand?"

Arthur pulled back with a grimace. There was something between them, of course there was, but it wasn't love. Not after little more than a month. But he tried to school his features, dialing back his disgust, even as Eames added another similarity to Ts'ao. Just because he hadn't been as vicious about it, hadn't made the implication that Arthur slept around in exchange for services any less horrible. And Ts'ao had said he loved Arthur too, which at first he had allowed though he made it known he wasn't interested in anything more than fucking, but eventually it had been too much, and Ts'ao had always been pushing for more.

"You don't love me," Arthur said, stern, "I know you think you do. But this isn't love, so don't fucking say that."

"If you say so," Eames said with only a little flinch, but one that Arthur noticed regardless. "It doesn't change anything else I said. Is everything else an acceptable way of putting it?"

Arthur wasn't satisfied with an 'if you say so,' but he recognized there wasn't much Eames could say. Taking it back wouldn't have been better, and if Eames had tried to argue... but that 'if you say so,' still rankled.

"Yeah the rest of it, it's fine. It's all fine," Arthur groused, shifting away unconsciously. His comm went off and he pulled the slim device from his pocket to answer the wave as he stood.

"Everything going okay? Need me to get him out?" Pan asked immediately.

"No. It's fine."

"Good. Now, I'll be in my ship so I can finally get some sleep. Wave if you need me, and I'll be by tomorrow for my stuff. Have fun you two," he teased and hung up.

"Arthur," Eames caught his wrist, gently as Arthur closed the comm. "That was a lot of fines when you don't sound it. Please, come here, tell me about it or don't, I don't mind. Please?"

Arthur turned around and settled in between Eames legs before he brought his hand to Eames' shoulder and his other to card through Eames' hair. "There's nothing to say," he tried to placate. Eames had sounded worried, which wasn't something Arthur wanted to be the cause of. "I am fine. I promise."

A sigh and Eames pressed his forehead to Arthur's chest, bringing his hands up to settle on Arthur's hips. "You must think me silly, then. Spouting all this nonsense. Childish." He sounded exhausted.

Childish. That was a good descriptor. Tossing love out freely like there was that much to go around. Like it wasn't dangerous. There was a small part of him that genuinely did feel bad he couldn't just say it back, but predominantly the whole thing made him uncomfortable. Eames either fell in love with everyone he met, or he was on his way to becoming just like Ts'ao. Jealous and obsessive. And now that the thought had been planted it began to take root, spindly growth spreading into every crevice of his mind and seeking out more information to feed on. Arthur didn't see an immediate way to fix it, so he tried to make note of it and file it away until he had either more evidence or mitigating proof.

He rubbed at Eames' back in an effort to soothe both of them. "I haven't been very mature either," he admitted. Running away from problems he'd blown out of proportion, from things he hadn't wanted to face because they were unpleasant. If their relationship had fallen apart here he could have looked back on their time together fondly, and known he'd ended things for a noble reason. An unnecessary sacrifice, but nonetheless easier than because they legitimately couldn't work.

"It's different." Eames' eyes had fluttered closed. "We should probably get to sleep, everything else can be left till morning. Are you having nightmares again?"

"Not about Mal," Arthur supplied quickly, "and not every night." Because most nights he couldn't get sleep. He only managed it in snatches. He'd managed almost three whole hours after he'd fallen asleep in the transport and Pan decided to take them in circles to prolong the drive.

Arthur slowly pulled away, and knelt to grab his bag and change into a pair of satin pants and a plain t-shirt. He wasn't necessarily ready to drop off into sleep, but the excuse to curl up together was too tempting for him to say anything about it. He smiled a little. Ts'ao hadn't cuddled,while Eames had gone so far as to ask to. In the middle of the day, no less. "Were you having nightmares?" he asked, but knew Eames probably had.

"Yeah," Eames confirmed, rubbing at his eyes and standing to undress as well. "And not just nightmares - there was a lot of things I had to do to speed up repairs and if I'm not sleeping I might as well work." A sigh and he padded into the bathroom.

Arthur frowned as he followed after him. He didn't like the idea of Eames working himself ragged, even if that was something he himself had done. At least until Pan caught him out and tried to force to at least rest. Arthur passed Eames an unopened toothbrush, one of several he'd purchased and then slipped out of the bathroom in case Eames needed to use it.

Once he saw Eames was only brushing his teeth, he stepped in and commandeered the second sink to start his own routine. That done, he followed Eames out barely even feeling embarrassed about behaving like a duckling and quickly settled into bed, leaving Eames plenty of room.

He'd never felt so eager to have another person in his space for just the sake of having them close, but he'd missed Eames so gorram much. His weight, the way he smelled, the way he moved, his skin, his warmth.

Eames settled contently on the bed. "This is better," he murmured, running his hand along Arthur's back.

Arthur smiled and cupped Eames' cheek. "Much." He said and shuffled closer, close enough to gently kiss him. It was slow and indulgent, a kiss for the sake of being close. He was too tired for anything else, and he was willing to bet Eames was too. But he'd gone so long without contact that he couldn't help but want something more intimate than a hug.

Eames sighed, tilting his chin upward to meet Arthur in the kiss, squeezing his arms around Arthur's waist. Perfect. Arthur hummed softly his mouth, slowing it as he pressed his body as far against Eames as it could go, tangling their legs. His mouth moved softer and slower as he started to drift off to sleep. For once, completely relaxed and comfortable.

Morning turned to mid-morning, and crept towards the afternoon before Arthur managed to open his eyes and find Eames still across from him. It was difficult to find motivation to get out of bed, so he didn't. Instead he moved forward and very, very softly mouthed at Eames' neck. The day felt like a good one to linger in bed and order take out. Rain had been in the monthly forecast, and Arthur had no where to be. The only thing left was to wait for Pan's friend who had forged IdentCards, which would cut it even if the Alliance got ahold of them, according to Pan.

Eames sighed softly in his sleep, shifting subtly to tuck his head a little closer. In a couple of minutes he opened his eyes, smiling sleepily. He pressed his forehead to Arthur's before tilting his head up to press a kiss to Arthur's forehead. "Good morning." A pause. "Is it raining?" He shifted slightly to cast a glance out the window. "Oh no. Guess we'll have to stay in bed," he said, burrowing comfortably into the mattress and into Arthur.

Arthur grinned then chuckled, still low and graveled with sleep. "I guess so. How unfortunate," he said and curled in closer, still smiling. "What will we do?" He ran his hand over Eames' side, enjoying something he thought he'd never be able to again.

"Surely we can find something," Eames all but purred, eyes sliding closed, fingers stroking along the small of Arthur's back.

Arthur smiled, and enjoyed the attention. He kissed Eames, still soft and slow as his hand continued to move up along Eames' body.

Eames sighed into the kiss, hand meandering under Arthur's shirt, stroking lightly. "No more running?" he asked with a nip at Arthur's chin.

"Not without you," Arthur answered, and let Eames roll him on to his back before he moved in to resume kissing. His hands migrated to the base of Eames' skull, his fingers threading through soft hair.

"Good," Eames murmured into the kiss. "Remind me to tell you exactly how angry I was at you, later," he added on, tracing Arthur's jaw lightly to his neck, kissing and licking along the skin.

And he knew Eames didn't mean it but the previous night surfaced as well and Arthur started to grow anxious. This... this wasn't doing anything for him. It wasn't bad, by any means, but he... wasn't feeling it. And now that he was aware of it, even the kisses stopped feeling as pleasant. He pulled back, and looked away uncomfortably. "Pan's going to be here any minute," he tried to excuse himself. Doubtful in this rain, but Arthur tried to slip out of bed to dress anyway.

Eames sat back. "Are we going anywhere? Or, rather, must you get out of bed and dressed? We could just talk."

"Is there something you want to talk about?" Arthur asked and tried not to sound testy. But he did pause, hand only resting on the suitcase he'd been preparing to draw out from under the bed. Getting dressed was just an excuse to move away, trying to argue he needed to be presentable for Pan's sake was stupid, and Eames would easily see through it considering he'd shared a room with Pan until last night.

"Well first off, Renate asked to call," Eames started. "So did Morgan, in fact, since I wasn't in the mood to entertain him for most of the week and he had apparently been looking forward to meeting you. And so did my father but that's even more optional."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to be dressed for any of those things," Arthur sniped as he pulled the suitcase out and took out a striped shirt and black trousers as well as socks and disappeared into the bathroom to shower. He didn't even think to invite Eames, instead seeking out privacy unconsciously. It wasn't a quick shower, but he didn't waste too much water either, and then he took his time going through his morning rituals. Brushing his teeth and slicking back his hair, he'd shaved yesterday morning so he couldn't stall for more time there. Instead he dressed and successfully ignored how strange it was to do it in the bathroom.

And now that the water was off he could hear dregs of a conversation floating out from behind the door. Had Pan come already? Not, it sounded like Eames was on the comm.

"He asked..." Arthur heard. "I can't lie to him. It had been the shortest route to say everything at once. That I would follow as long as he wanted me, even through danger. That he could count on never being alone. Those he agreed with... That's all. I followed to help - he ran from everyone, including his own friends and if he'd really wanted me to leave he'd have told me by now, told me to my face. I will let him go if he wants it. I'm not trying to take responsibility for him. I'm trying to figure out how to fix it again. _Again_. And every time I look at it, it's not even broken. Apparently Arthur's definition of love is some monstrosity I can't even begin to picture."

"No, my definition of love just isn't a child's," Arthur cut in coldly, as he stepped out of the bathroom and silently moved to put away his sleepwear. Once again he was some problem to be fixed, he couldn't just be left alone, he couldn't just sort things out himself, nothing could ever just be. "I'll be downstairs. Don't follow me." He warned and left the room after grabbing his comm and his wallet.

\---

Ariadne winced. "That sounded... not so good."

"No, it didn't," Eames said after he watched the door close, only keeping himself from sinking against the wall by virtue of Ariadne's presence. "I guess I'd best listen to him this time." The last times he followed, things didn't end well. "What the hell is wrong with a child's definition of love?" now he was just talking for the sake of it, running a hand through his hair. "It's far better if it doesn't lead to this. But how are you?" He about faced the topic, straining to smile and hide the guilt and heartbreak.

"Fine," she answered quickly before immediately jumping back. "I think you guys are going to need to talk about this, not now, obviously, but clearly you've got a problem if there wasn't one before. Look. You can... you can love him all day long, but if he's not ready, he's not ready. And I mean, it's really uncomfortable to know that someone feels that strongly about you, and you don't. I broke up with a guy over it, it's just... it's hard to recover from that."

"Not ready," Eames repeated, displaying nothing at all. "He could have just told me that very thing. Just told me and I wouldn't have said another thing about it..." They would talk, maybe, but for now he felt too shaken to promise anything. He could have just recorded this whole conversation and handed it to Arthur on a silver platter so he couldn't be interrupted. If that wasn't acceptable, there was nothing he could do. "Thanks, Ari. I'll... I dunno." Eames ended the wave before she had a chance to respond, tossing the comm onto the bed and taking a seat on it as well. If he was hungry in the morning, he didn't want anything at all right now.

\---

Arthur stopped in the lobby, staring out at the rain now coming down in sheets. God, he'd just wanted a day in bed this morning. A full half a minute without Eames and he missed him. Fucking Christ. He didn't even have a clear idea of where he was going, complimentary breakfast was long over and he wasn't pathetic enough to sit in a booth by himself. The hotel bar, or what passed for one, wouldn't be open until at least four, and drinking wasn't something he wanted to do anyway.

And damn it all, he'd known there was a problem. He couldn't honestly be angry Eames noticed, and, considering their track record with discussing problems, he couldn't even blame Eames for wanting to talk to someone else. He turned around and headed back upstairs, and into the room. He frowned at the sight of Eames still on his bed but halfway through buttoning his shirt and the comm suddenly ringing. "Can we talk?" he asked, a little harsh still.

"Yeah," Eames agreed neutrally, moving only to shut off the comm.

And Arthur didn't know where to start. Eames looked... fragile, somehow, not himself, and Arthur couldn't go on the offensive as he always seemed to. "I swear we've had this discussion," he said, not hostile, just tired, and he sat next to Eames carefully. "Sometimes my problems are my problems, sometimes there is no "fixing" them, because I'm not a gorram ship," he said, trying not to use anger to cover up the fact he was hurt. It felt like Eames was trying to fix him because he wasn't good enough, and it felt like Ts'ao when he didn't get the reactions he wanted. "Could you just let me deal with things? I feel like shit for leaving you, and I feel like shit for not..." he looked away, not really wanting to admit there had been an intimacy issue.

"I'm not trying to fix you. I'm trying to find out what I did wrong so I can fix myself for you, to swear to never do it again." Eames sighed, pressing his chin into his hands. "That's why I go after you, not because I feel there's something wrong with you. Your problems become my problems. Here I would apologize, proving my point. Only one of us is enough feeling shit at any given time - you came back, didn't you?"

"And I thought we did. I told you, you're not in love with me. You can't be, Eames, it's been a little over a month and most of that time we barely even managed to get along, so how the fuck can you think you love me?" He knew he was being harsh, but this whole thing had him shaken and stirred to agitation. "And since you're not willing to admit you were wrong, you're insisting I'm the one with warped ideas for not spouting fucking sonnets, how the fuck am I suppose to interpret that as you trying to fix yourself?" He pushed himself up, livid at the contradiction. "You might be more subtle, but you still act like Ts'ao."

Shit.

The comparison he'd been trying so hard not to make, or at least not share with Eames, but now it was out there and he couldn't take the words back.

Eames shook his head, pressing his hands together before his face. "But it's now your job to tell me how to feel, is that it? Because you're so insecure, you can't tell me to wait or that you aren't ready, no, you have to make leaping conclusions-," Eames cut himself off, trying to reign himself back and then continued at a normal volume: "I'm not asking for anything and neither am I going to force you into anything. But I'm not going to stand here and watch you spit on one of the only good things to come out of that god forsaken crash. If you don't want me to mention it, I won't, and since I see you think love is Ts'ao and sonnets and not just a warm feeling you have towards a person, no matter what they do or say, I'd have to agree not to say another word. If that's the price I have to pay for growing up, I will only gladly stay a child forever." A huff and he tucked in his shirt.

"I know what love is, you self-righteous fuck, and real love doesn't happen in a month. You have seen fractions of me, you can't learn someone in a fucking month Eames. You can love an idea of someone, you can love what you think they are, but you don't know them well enough. Do you think the guy on Black Rock-- do you think that's me? Because it wasn't, okay, it's a part of me, but it's not all of me. It's not just a warm feeling. It's love. It's..." And he couldn't help himself from thinking of Su Lyn and he stopped talking there, looking away. "I know what love is, Eames," he said coldly, "you're the one that has the same ideas as Ts'ao."

"So seeing the worst of you isn't enough? Unlike others, I don't need _all_ the facts to make a decision. But you know, it doesn't even matter. Do _not_ tell me what to think and what to feel and do not compare me to a man who only hurls insults at you for no gorramn reason but the fact that he is probably mentally unstable." Eames grabbed his coat, putting it on, not willing to continue this conversation any further. "I have shut up about it forever, you won't hear another word about it from me. In fact, pretend like it never even happened and if it makes you feel better, I do _not_ love you, I like you and you're my best friend who I have sex with and am actually inviting to live in my ship for an indeterminate amount of time. I am here to help you run and no other reason but that. Now as someone who hasn't eaten in over twenty four hours, I am going to get breakfast. Come along if you wish."

No, seeing him at his worst wasn't enough. It wasn't who he was, and it was the part of himself he hated. How could Eames love that? And if he did, how did he feel about the rest of him?

"I don't." Arthur said simply. If Eames was going to shut this conversation down, fine, but he going to have to let Arthur deal with it at his own pace and on his own. But he didn't want to let Eames just leave like that, so he pulled out his comm and dialed Eames before quickly hanging up. "You have my number in case I'm not here," he explained. He may not have been satisfied with their conversation, but he wasn't going to abandon Eames again. He couldn't.

Eames nodded but headed out.

Arthur gave himself a few minute to regain his composure before he dared to call Renate. The conversation was long and difficult, and left him feeling more like shit for trying to disappear, but at least she wasn't going anywhere. She told him Ts'ao had left as soon as he found out Arthur wasn't around, which had happened more quickly than she liked. And there was the possibility he recognized Pan's ship, but considering Pan and Ts'ao had never gotten along, it was a remote one. He didn't mention any issues with Eames, and let the her lecture peter out on its own. It wasn't long after that Eames returned to the room, Arthur had left the door unlocked for his sake even if Eames hadn't had any trouble picking the lock before.

He looked up at Eames tiredly, and really, all he wanted was for Eames to hold him. Just for a few minutes. But he stayed where he was and didn't make an effort to ask Eames for comfort. Instead he asked how breakfast was.

"Good," Eames shook his head out, shedding his wet coat in the entrance and hanging it up. "You've talked to Renate at least?" A sigh and he neared, pressing a palm to Arthur's cheek lightly. "What were you planning on doing now?"

Arthur took that as all the incentive he needed, and he laid back on the bed, pulling Eames on top of him and sliding further up the bed to get more comfortable. "Just for a few minutes," he said, face buried into Eames' neck. Just a few minutes of nothing but them, together. Arthur didn't care that Eames was slightly damp, he could warm him up.

Eames sighed but kicked off his boots. "Just for a few minutes," he agreed, moving his palm to the back of Arthur's head, stroking softly.

Arthur genuinely didn't mean too, but he was drained emotionally and one night of decent sleep hadn't been enough to catch up to a week's worth. The gentle pattering of rain and Eames' warmth and affection weren't helping him stay awake either, and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier until he fell asleep with Eames' on top of him, safe and secure.

When he woke, Arthur was confused and disoriented and groaned tiredly as he wiggled out from under Eames. Eames was asleep and had shifted, only a shoulder and arm on Arthur. It was a good thing he had moved, otherwise Arthur'd be in pain. He stretched out and stared at Eames, things quickly shifting back into place. The distance felt heavy even with Eames lying next to him, and somehow unreachable.

A sigh and Eames blinked his eyes open as he finally registered Arthur moving. "So much for a few minutes," he sighed, propping himself up on his elbow, rubbing at his eyes. "You didn't have any plans today, did you?"

Almost automatically, his mind was racing to come up with things that could need doing so he had an excuse to leave, but Eames had a nasty habit of seeing right through anything Arthur said, so he stopped himself there and answered honestly as he sat up. "No." He stretched and popped his spine by twisting at the waist; the initial sting was worth the relief that followed.

"Alright." Arthur startled as a hand pressed between his shoulderblades. "Need some help with that?"

Arthur forced himself to relax because he was just making things worse between them. A sharp 'no' was on the tip of his tongue, obviously he didn't need help, but Eames was trying to offer support and Arthur didn't want him to leave again. Even if it had just been for breakfast and realistically they both needed their space. "How would you 'help'?" he asked, mostly curious but not lacking in skepticism.

"We don't have to do anything." Eames had instantly withdrawn his hand as soon as he felt Arthur tense. "I do know quite a good back stretch, courtesy of all the time I spent in Kalidasa."

Arthur pushed himself off the bed, frustrated that they were now back to this, to Arthur flinching at touch and Eames learning not to do it. And everything felt so fucking careful and fragile with neither of them wanting to hurt the other and still the gulf between them grew, but Eames had said he didn't want to talk about it, and Arthur would respect that for now. "No thanks, I'm fine." he said as he ducked into the restroom as an escape. His mouth felt gross again, so he brushed his teeth before slipping back out.

"Do you want to move your stuff to my ship? Or just stay inside and be awkward around each other for the whole day? And where's Pan, you were convinced he was going to show up as soon as we awoke," Eames asked, still on the bed.

"He hates driving in the rain, he won't come unless he has to, and he doesn't need anything here. He packed an overnight bag yesterday, I assumed he'd met a girl, but it was probably because you were coming," Arthur said, addressing the easiest concern first, then he dropped to the ground beside the bed and slid out his bags. Of course, it had been raining when they first woke up, too, which revealed it as the weak excuse it had been. It wasn't like things could get much more awkward.

"Well, how many bags do you have? If it's a lot - I only came here with two but they're mostly yours - then we will have to wait on either the rain to end or Pan to show. I don't have a transport anymore, or an umbrella."

Arthur exhaled and pushed the bags back underneath the bed before standing and pulling out his comm to check the time. A little after four. No wonder his head felt wrong. "I need a drink." He decided, since his options were as limited as Eames said and he didn't want to be left feeling even more awkward now that it was so painfully obvious. The bar was right downstairs, so he didn't feel the need for Eames to say whether or not he was coming as he headed for the door.

Eames followed without his coat so Arthur figured he wasn't leaving after all. "What time is it by the way? Of course, it's always five o'clock somewhere, but the rain is making it hard to tell if it's even day or night."

"A little after four," Arthur answered as he headed down the stairs, and he wasn't sure if he was glad Eames decided to come with him or not, but he didn't dare ask him to find somewhere else to be. He sat down at the bar and ordered whatever was on tap.

"Make that two," Eames sighed, settling down on his chair, leaning heavily on the counter itself. "God, four? Waaay too much sleep, that was. Just for a couple of minutes..."

Arthur shifted, wondering if he'd made a mistake in asking Eames to be close. If Eames was really bothered by how much sleep he'd gotten. He certainly didn't sound pleased, but Arthur wasn't sure if he might have been reading into it. "Yeah," he said, mostly so Eames knew he wasn't being ignored. Arthur just didn't have much to say. Their drinks were set out in front of them and Arthur took a swig, grimacing at the taste. Strong. Two or three was probably his limit, he wasn't looking to get drunk.

And still Arthur didn't have anything to say, so he stayed quiet rather than fumble for conversation. He was still upset with Eames and Eames probably felt the same, if he was making such poor efforts at conversation. And Eames thought he was in love. _Sucked to be him_ , Arthur thought uncharitably. Maybe some nice, small town chump would believe love happened that quickly, but it took a lot more than that. More than some residual dependency.

Eames let the silence reign for a little bit, downing the first beer, and he ordered a second, pressing his forefingers into his temple as he accepted it. "So no plans for today. What about for tomorrow and the long term? If I know you, you had something up your sleeve. You're just refusing to share for some reason."

"We're waiting on one of Pan's friends," Arthur said as he finished his drink and asked for a refill. "From there I was going to fly with him, or one of his friends. Turns out I've got a valuable skill set, enough to off-set the danger. If you'd told me that, I might've stayed in contact." It might have been too soon to joke about, but Arthur went with it anyway. Of course, Arthur didn't trust any of them not to hand him in for the reward money and he'd thought about investing in his own ship, but he hadn't been ready to put his forged identities to the test quite yet. He started in on his second drink, downing it a little quicker now that he was more used to the taste.

"Well maybe if you'd said it to _my face_ ," Eames huffed, "I would have come up with it. I wasn't going to take any chances. You know, it didn't even make sense, what you did. You think I'm in good straights with the Alliance, that they wouldn't like to get their grubby hands on me? How was your situation going to make it any worse?"

Arthur stared into his drink like he might find the answer in the bottom of the glass. The truth was he probably hadn't been thinking clearly, Pan had pointed the same logical fallacy at least a dozen times. "A lot of reasons," he said finally and chugged some of the beer, "I didn't want you to get caught. I'm not some cargo that's only dangerous until you finish the job, I'm..." _Permanent_ , he almost said, "You're on the run as long as I'm with you, there is no ‘getting away with it,' no statute of limitations, this isn't ‘avoid a couple Outer Rim planets for a while'. And maybe I didn't want to get hurt either." He took another sip.

"And even though it ended like shit... Ts'ao and I were close once. I'd started to think we were okay again." And it wasn't like he wanted to start anything again, and he certainly had no urge to rekindle their friendship now... but it still hurt, regardless of how much he pretended it didn't bother him. "I panicked, Eames. I thought one day that was going to be us and I panicked."

"You think some fingerprints won't come back to haunt me? It's not like I haven't been caught on camera before either, or actually caught caught. It's not like there's not a-" Eames stopped himself. "Look. You can take this as you will because, forget lying, telling the truth is now getting me in trouble as well. I will not leave you until you tell me you do not want me. I will never treat you like that, like some kind of... I know you and I'm reasonable, even when I'm angry although it might take a little bit more effort for me not to just storm out. I slipped up once, I know, and I'm sorry and you have my word I will never do it again."

Arthur snorted. It wasn't fair to Eames, and he knew it, but he couldn't unsee it. The pattern of behavior was there, and it was hard for him not to fixate on it. "Slipped up? The time you implied I was a whore, or the time you followed me and told me that you love me? Or, wait, the times you ignored me because being friends wasn't enough? You say you'll leave whenever I tell you to, and yet, here we are. Tell me, which was the one time you slipped up?"

"You didn't tell me to leave, you didn't tell me anything in fact. My dad just said that you were _sorry_ and that you _couldn't_. What does that even mean? I ignored you because I was hurting, I needed time to myself, was that so terrible? I admit my implication wasn't exactly my brightest moment but tell me that you want me to leave, right now, that you never want to see me again and I will. I'll be out of your hair forever, I swear, just give me a reason. Say you don't want me any more, say that I repulse you and it'll all be over." He really was angry now. "Just give me a why."

He'd just given a whole list, hadn't he? Not to mention they fought at every turn. But God, when they weren't fighting... Arthur hadn't met someone who could make him feel the way Eames did. Like he couldn't get a grip on himself. But he refused to show anything, his features hardening because the last time he'd shown his hurt Eames had cut into him. "So that's it. I either stay with you in this relationship or I lose you entirely. Yeah. I can see the difference between you and him now."

"What do you want? Friendship? That's a relationship, I'm sorry, but it is. And if we're not even friends then how do you imagine us staying together?" Eames downed the rest of his second beer.

"You fucking know what I meant," Arthur said, "and do you even know how to be my friend, or do you need to ignore me for a few days and then talk to Ariadne, who's probably sick of this bullshit. Maybe you should fall in love with her next, you've known her about as long as me." He spat, and even as he said the words he regretted them for their spite.

"So to be friends with you, I can't even talk to anyone else, can I? My attention has to be forever centered on you. If that's friendship, that's not something I want." Eames slid of the chair, leaving his empty glass and digging in his pocket for credits, almost shaking with fury. "I'll be _around_ ," he spat, then turned on his heel and walked out into the drizzling rain, even without going upstairs to get his coat.

Fuck. Did he have to destroy everything? Because he did want that. He wanted all of Eames' attention, because he was a selfish asshole. Fuck it. He was getting shitfaced tonight. It wouldn't take long on an empty stomach, but he drank slowly, not sure if Eames planned to come back soon. Maybe the rain would bring him back. Until then, Arthur kept drinking.

But the longer Eames was away the more rapidly Arthur drank and soon enough he was cut off and eventually helped upstairs by hotel staff, who hovered behind him in case he fell while trying to climb them. He fumbled with the keycard and spilled inside the room, and there was Eames coat. Right fucking there. Looking both out of place and like it belonged. Arthur's fingers curled into the fabric and he brought it to his chest only to drop it when he saw a gun. He carefully removed it from the holster and checked the chamber for bullets. Loaded. He spun the chamber back into place and held it in his palm, fingers wrapping around the grip.

He wondered what it would feel like, beyond that it would hurt. Would it be quick? A burst of pain and then peace? He could deal with that. He brought the revolver to his temple and-- hesitated. He'd promised Dom and he'd promised Eames. But, fucking hell, this was miserable. He slid to the ground, his back against the bed. What would either of them do? Dom was long dead and Eames. Well. Eames wouldn't be able to follow him, and he didn't seem interested in doing it anymore. At least this way, Eames could claim he'd killed Arthur and collect the money. And Arthur would stop hurting. He wouldn't hurt anyone anymore, nor would he be hurt by anyone.

Arthur put the gun down, and fished around for his comm, dialing out Eames' number. "Please," he whispered to the small device, "please don't ignore me." But he'd hurt Eames. And Eames always ignored him when Arthur did something wrong. He hung up the comm and pushed it aside, closing his eyes for a minute.

"Arthur?" There was a knock on the door. "Are you awake?"

Arthur tensed and tried to sit up straighter. Eames? "Are you here for your stuff?" he asked, struggling to sound normal, but didn't move from the floor. He had no intention of getting up, he wasn't certain he could manage it. His hand found its way to Eames coat and suddenly the thought he wouldn't even have it was unbearable. But even if Eames did take all his stuff, Arthur still had his weapon.

"Can you just let me in? Please? Or I can let myself in, if you want me to."

Arthur looked away from the door miserably. "You don't want to be here," he accused, "so just leave. Tomorrow," he said, still fighting to sound normal, "Get it tomorrow, please."

"I do want to be here," Eames' voice asserted. "I-If you want me to be here, I want to as well. Also I'm cold. I don't have anywhere else to be. Or go."

"I can't..." he said. Couldn't let Eames in, couldn't keep going like this. "You can't want to be here. I just... I fuck everything up. I'm sorry you love me. But I'm, I'll fix it. I won't... no more problems. I won't do them." He picked up Eames' gun. "Just love someone better."

"You're drunk, darling," Eames sighed. "I'm letting myself in, alright? Then we can talk and it's going to be fine. I forgive you for fucking everything up. And I can't love anyone better because there's no one better. I would pick you over anyone in the whole 'Verse, even if they offered me a whole planet full of diamonds."

Arthur let out a choked sob as he slowly brought the gun to his temple. He shouldn't do this, not right in front of Eames and he hesitated, his hand shaking. "This'll fix everything." He said, to both himself and Eames. "Please, Eames, promise you'll love someone better, please."

"No, it won't, because I'll have no choice but to spend all night outside your door and then I'll get a cold and who's going to take responsibility for that? And you quit that love someone better nonsense - you're scaring me." There was scratching at the door.

"Eames, you have to promise," Arthur insisted, sticking to that point and not entirely registering what Eames was telling him. He couldn't do this if Eames didn't promise that he'd find someone else.

"Arthur, please put that down..."

Arthur stared at Eames, suddenly eye level, and blinked at the hand being held out.

"Arthur, please. Please, give that to me."

His coat? Arthur lowered the gun to clumsily grab the coat he was half-sitting on and when he couldn't free it with one hand he set the gun down to try two hands and eventually managed to get it out from underneath him. "You're wet," he observed sadly.

"I am very wet," Eames agreed. He took the coat and Arthur's hands, together, pulling Arthur towards him. "Don't do that, no suicide. You promised me first. Do you remember that? It's not going to fix anything."

Arthur let Eames drag him across the floor, he wasn't coordinated enough to stop him, and he didn't mind until a shiver traveled through him and then he was alarmed and tugging his hands free to wrap himself around Eames. "Fucking cold," he explained, sobering a little in his panic. "Shower," he added, and tried to stand and pull Eames up with him. It didn't work and Eames had to do it for him, hands locked under Arthur's hips.

"Yes, shower. But you're coming with me."

"Okay," Arthur agreed, not sure if he should be happy about it or not. Instinctively he wanted to be, because Eames and shower had largely been a pleasant combination, and Eames was freakishly cold and a shower would be warm, but Eames' tone was hard to read. Was he mad? Arthur watched Eames slide the gun under the bed with his foot. Oh. "Do you want mine too?" Arthur asked.

"No guns. Just leave it be. Shower. Come now." Eames all but dragged both of them to the bathroom, immediately turning on the hot water and starting on getting rid of his damp shirt. "You undress, too, unless you want to shower with your clothes on," he coaxed.

Arthur didn't. Why would he want to shower with his clothes on? "Can you do that?" he asked skeptically as he fumbled with the buttons. He was at least getting them undone, just... not as efficiently. And then he moved to his trousers, carefully easing them down and then struggling to step out of them. He latched onto the sink for support, and finally managed to get them off. The socks were another obstacle, but he managed those, too.

"If you're crazy," Eames sighed. "Come here," he asked again, holding out his hands towards Arthur, already standing in the bath. "The water's nice and hot."

Eames was naked and asking him to step inside the shower, of course he was going to go. Arthur moved carefully, relying heavily on Eames as he stepped where the water made the tub slick. And once safely inside, his hands skimmed over Eames body, seeking out cold spots and trying to rub warmth into them. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay. It's all fine," Eames sighed. He slid is arms around Arthur's ribs, angling them so that they were both getting some of the spray, squeezing tightly and pressing his nose to the crook of Arthur's neck. "Everything's going to be okay, just trust me. Please."

Arthur curled around Eames, holding him tightly. Eames sounded sad, which made Arthur feel like shit, even as he held him close. "It's not okay," Arthur said, "how can you love someone that does this?" he asked. "How can you love someone so mean?"

"You're not mean. Not to me. You have your reasons and your past which you have to sort out. But you're downright cruel to yourself. If you just take it one step at a time, just one, everything will be okay and you won't be perfect and that will be the best thing about you." Eames smoothed Arthur's hair out of his face, kissing each cheek, before moving his head away to grasp for eye contact. "You got that?"

Arthur surged forward to kiss Eames, arms wrapped around him still. It wasn't anything but affection, sloppy, earnest affection. "You're the best thing about me." He said, forehead pressed against Eames'. "I'm sorry."

Eames kissed back with equal warmth, petting and stroking skin and hair in turn. "It's alright. You're forgiven. Just... try to remember this for tomorrow won't you? I don't actually want to be chased out, even when I'm asking for it, and the last thing I want is for you to go where I can't follow."

"You left," Arthur said, drawing back like it had just dawned on him, and the water was starting to sober him, "you went out into the rain... and only came back because you had no where else to go." And it was probably the alcohol still, but Arthur scrambled out of the shower to throw up in the toilet. There wasn't much in his stomach to up-heave and what did come up tasted rancid, and he vomited again.

He could feel a towel being thrown over him and Eames patting his back. Arthur reached up to flush, and closed his eyes to avoid watching it swirl down. Of course, closing his eyes led him to falling asleep, head resting against the lid.

His head being moved was enough to startle him awake and he pulled away from whatever was lifting his head. Oh, Eames. He let the man dry him off, and then he tried to leverage himself up on uncooperative limbs. He moved towards the sink first, scrambling around for a toothbrush because his mouth felt disgusting. The mint perked him up enough that he didn't fall asleep in the middle of brushing or rinsing, but it was still a struggle to get out of the bathroom.

Eames hovered behind Arthur. "Do you want clothes?"

Arthur nodded his head, but moved for the bed. He was too tired to care if he ended up in clothes or not, and the memory of how cold Eames had been prompted him to steal the blanket off Pan's bed. Pulling it on to the bed proved too much of task, and Arthur left more of it on the floor than the bed without realizing, and he burrowed under both just before falling asleep.

Arthur slept solidly for several hours before waking, still a little drunk, but more sobered than not. He looked around, noticing he was naked and thoroughly trapped under heavy blankets, but Eames seemed equally trapped and that suited him. But he was asleep and Arthur settled, only moving to curl back up to him. He didn't mean to, but he ended up falling back asleep, a little less solidly and there were no nightmares. Only a growing headache.

Arthur groaned when Eames moved in the morning, the sudden noise and movement enough to wake him and alert him to the pounding in his own head. He shifted and tried to scuttle back under the covers where it was soft and dark and blessedly quiet.

Eames was getting up and out of bed concerned Arthur enough after a moment that he braved the light to watch him. Was this it and they couldn't even be in a room together? Why was he so good at screwing this shit up? He turned away from Eames, refusing to show anything. "You can call Pan if you want a ride, he'll put up with the rain for that," he mumbled, even though the words stung. He didn't want Eames to try heading out in the rain again if he was looking to go back to Rook.

"I have a headache and I believe the beginnings of a cold, I'm going to go get something to cure it. Coffee, probably, at least for starters." A kiss pressed to a patch of skin on Arthur's shoulder. "I'll be back as soon as I get that. Do you want any? Breakfast?"

Relief rippled across his skin, and he sighed softly at the kiss, but he needed more than that and he didn't care if he caught Eames' cold as he rolled over and pushed himself high enough to pull Eames in for a proper kiss and rest their foreheads together. "Coffee. Please," he said, and stole another kiss.

"Will do," Eames kissed softly back, a hand easily find its way to Arthur's jaw. Not for long however and he pulled away, grimacing slightly. "I'll come back as soon as I can. Sleep for now, I know you have a hangover."

Arthur looked down, guilty and ashamed. He didn't remember much, but what he did... He was lucky Eames had come back, but now there was the knot of anxiety that Eames was only staying because he thought Arthur would kill himself if he didn't, and that was in no way healthy. They needed to talk, but it could wait until Eames got back, so Arthur obediently settled himself back under the covers.

It was instinct to wake up at noise, to push himself up and ensure it wasn't a danger. Arthur groaned as his hangover punished him for moving that suddenly, and he settled back down as soon as he registered it was Eames. And then he couldn't decide if he wanted to wake more fully and have coffee, or if he wanted to burrow back under the blankets and avoid daylight for as long as possible.

"Morning," Eames said softly. "You going to be awake or should I cover the coffee?"

"I'm awake," Arthur groused, but it took another minute to convince himself to actually sit up and rest his back against the headboard. He probably should have put some clothes on, but then, Eames had already seen him naked. Fairly frequently, as it happened.

"Thanks," he said as he reached for the coffee, half wondering if Eames, or wherever Eames had gone, added sugar. He drank it without asking, coffee was coffee and even instant would have done him some good.

"I have bagels too, if you want." Eames sat on the other bed, slowly drinking his own out of a styrofoam cup.

Arthur was content with his coffee, smiling a little at the fact there was definitely extra sugar. The bagels, he turned his nose at. His stomach might have been able to manage plain, but slathered in greasy eggs and cheese was too much when he already felt nauseous. He allowed himself a few more sips before steeling himself for what could be a painful conversation. "I'm... I'm glad you came back last night, for whatever reason." At least if he brought it up, he wouldn't feel like Eames was attacking him. This was his choice, he had control, at least some, over how the conversation went.

"I'm glad as well, more than you can imagine. And I think we need to talk about it. Even though we're both not in the best shape possible. On the other hand, even when we're both fit as fiddles, it doesn't seem to make a difference. So as one cephalalgic person to another, we should keep this in simple terms." Eames sighed once more, taking one more swig of coffee. "Why?"

Arthur shifted, and bought himself a moment to think by taking a drink. He'd brought this up, he wanted to talk about it, and more than that they needed to. "Because I was drunk... and... Eames, my life just keeps falling apart. Every time I start thinking I've picked up and moved on I realize that I haven't. I'm not okay with this. I gave the Alliance so fucking much, and I've lost everything. Piece by fucking piece. And I tried to let you in, to be a part of your life, and all of it, all the plans I made come crashing down because I'm a fucking idiot and I thought Ts'ao would be over it. You think you're in love with me, and I don't know what scares me more; the thought that you're possessive and infantile or that you somehow actually do love me, because all I seem to do is..." Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. "I was drunk, and I let it get to me."

"I don't know if this is insulting your intelligence because it seems to obvious to me but given... last night, I feel like I have to say it. It's not going to fix anything. You do realize that don't you? And." Eames paused to make a vague gesture before trying to restart. "And, maybe you're trying too hard to move on that you don't actually get the chance to. Talk to me, talk to Renate, Pan even and take it one step at a time. Please? Because even though it's different, it's not as previously planned, nothing has really changed since what we'd thought we'd be doing. We might need a little bit more caution but short of stopping and searching all ships everywhere, no one is going to find you and you're not in any danger." Eames shut his mouth, grimacing unpleasantly. "I don't know what to say so I'm trying everything I can," he grumbled, leaning his chin on his hand.

It _would_ fix everything, Arthur didn't say, but it was true. If he was dead... that was it. No more running, no more struggling to find his footing only to tumble back down. He would be dead. What would he have to worry about? "I told you, I was drunk. I let it get to me." He didn't dare add that he'd thought Eames wouldn't come back, that would sound far too much like blame and none of it was Eames' fault. Arthur wouldn't let him put that on his shoulders. "And there's nothing for you to say. This is my fight. We don't know if I would have gone through with it."

"Let it get to you... The fact is that you tried. And it may be your fight but you've got to know you're not alone. Even when it gets to you, even when you're drunk, reach for a comm, not a loaded gun. I'm not even sure if I'll ever load the thing again, you scared me so much."

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur chastised and kept drinking his coffee. He decided against mentioning the few he had scattered in strategic locations around the room. He didn't want to argue that Eames couldn't keep him safe from himself, it seemed cruel and that it would only make Eames paranoid. "Do I even want to know how long you spent in the rain?" he added, because that had been a stupid decision, too, and at least Arthur had been drunk. The caffeine was starting to help, or the placebo effect, Arthur didn't care as he left the bed to at least put on something. Eames had been thoughtful enough to put clothes out for him and he took those off the table and moved to where there was a little more room in order to put them on. He frowned when he noticed his comm on the floor, and padded over to it, checking for damage. It looked fine. Maybe he had reached for a comm first.

"Around one and a half hours," Eames sighed, rolling his eyes mostly at himself. "I got lost."

Arthur climbed back into bed as he searched through it. His last call had been to Eames, and only lasted a few seconds. Shit. It was best Eames didn't know about it, considering the timestamp and the fact Arthur couldn't remember doing it. "Can I see your comm, I want to compare something," he lied. Lying was probably better than trying to steal it.

"Sure, it's in my coat, hold on. Greasy things help with hangovers, by the way," Eames said, standing and pointing to the bagel as he headed for the door, where he'd hung up his coat again. "Eggs and amino acids also." The comm was indeed still in his coat pocket, and he flipped it open on reflex. "There's a missed call from you, last night," he said thoughtfully, handing it over for the time being.

"Really? Because smelling it makes me want to vomit," Arthur said even as he felt his stomach drop. But Eames didn't show much of a reaction and Arthur took the comm and pretended to examine it. "I probably pocket dialed you," he said to explain it away, never mind the fact he had his screen locked so that wouldn't happen. He couldn't claim he'd called while sober, it was too late for it and he'd probably barely let it ring.

"I think there's a message," Eames said, moving around the room to pick up other odds and ends he'd missed in cleaning up the night before. "Oh, I almost lost my toothpicks."

"Great. Fifteen seconds of rustling fabric," Arthur said dryly. He couldn't try to deny there was one, he didn't have remote access to Eames' messages and he couldn't delete for Eames' comm without him noticing. He didn't even know what message he could have left in that amount of time. He must have said something and the software decided to record. "Want me to delete it?" he tried, hoping he could be quick enough about Eames wouldn't know there was anything to miss.

"Well, if it really is fifteen seconds of fabric." Eames shrugged. "You don't remember leaving anything?"

Arthur tried to think, but didn't remember much more than a vague impression. He remembered growing upset and pushing the comm away, but not with any clarity. Still he doubted any good would come of Eames hearing whatever he had to say. Arthur went through the menu and found the messages, annoyed to find he had to listen to them rather than delete them straight from the menu screen. He just needed to be quick.

Even on the tiny screen he could see he looked miserable, and hideously drunk. The messaged played suddenly: "-ease, please don--" and Arthur hurried to delete it, relaxing marginally until the automated voice started to ask if he was sure and he preemptively hit one to affirm only for the comm to assume he was trying to call out, and he was left trying to quickly cycle through the messages again to get rid of it.

"That wasn't rustling." Eames frowned. "Did you delete it before I could hear it? Wait, did you take the comm just to try and delete the message that you knew was there before I saw it? I wasn't going to blackmail you with it or anything, you could have just asked." He stole the comm from Arthur's hand, already going through it.

Arthur held his hand out rather than attempt to snatch it back. "I did ask," Arthur defended. Eames had added a stipulation, one Arthur had ignored, but he had asked to delete the message. And it wasn't out of fear of blackmail, it was because he had no idea what he'd said. It could have been something awful.

"If it was fabric, I said." Eames shook his head before playing the message out. "Now I will delete it," he said, pressing the proper buttons this time and sending the message to the trash. He rubbed his eye. "I'm sorry I left."

"You had every right to. I'm sorry for what I said." He didn't necessarily take all of it back, but he had been vicious when he said it and that was worth apologizing for. Hearing himself beg for Eames not to ignore him was a new experience and it was hard not to feel keenly embarrassed for how stupid and pathetic he'd sounded. Eames didn't look as guilty as Arthur had feared he would, which he considered a good thing. "At least we know I reached for a comm," he said, trying to reassure him.

Eames could only manage a pained expression. "You're going to have to try much harder to get rid of me now," he sighed, pressing a kiss to Arthur's cheek.

Arthur pulled away on reflex and sighed, frustrated, through his nose. That was exactly what he'd been worried about. He didn't want Eames to stay with him out of some obligation. He didn't want Eames to turn himself into some fucking martyr. And he didn't see a way to fix it. At the end of the day, Eames was only here because he didn't want blood on his hands, and Arthur was only here because his life was in shambles and Eames was the most stable thing he had. This wasn't healthy. Feelings, his own and Eames, couldn't be taken at face value.

"I don't think we can come back from this," Arthur admitted softly.

"We can. Yes, we can." Eames sighed. "I'm not staying because I'm afraid, although you did scare me. I'm staying because I understand you more now that this is has happened and maybe because I told a little bit of a lie at first." He closed his eyes. "Sometimes I get the impression you don't need me at all. Or want me in fact, and it's hard to remember even the time when you came looking for me back on Hera." He cleared his throat. "What's easy for me isn't at all the same for you so it's the more subtle things that really do show you feel. Just because we're in the middle of a crisis doesn't make all those other times any less true, either."

"Eames," Arthur said, forcing himself to stay steady and calm when he felt anything but, "that isn't going to get better. I don't need you, I don't want to need you... and if you have to keep telling yourself I want you it just means I'm not showing it and that's not going to get better either. It sounds like you want a project, I get that you want to help, really, but what we're doing... it isn't healthy. I wish it was." He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, "God, do I wish it was. I'm not saying there's nothing between us," that was apparent to everyone, "but you're looking for something I can't give you."

"And I'm telling you that it is! I am not looking for a project - you know my opinion on it. You can work through your problems on your own and you can rely on me if you need it - how is that unhealthy? What am I asking of you that's so difficult? You've given me all I want and I've been overlooking it completely. All I meant was that I seem to have a faulty memory that I need to pay a little bit closer attention to what you're trying to say to really understand you before you snap. You're cruel to yourself and in turn to me because you think you don't deserve me or some other 狗屎 like that and that is just not true!" Eames huffed, folding his hands over his chest.

"Does the why really make a fucking difference when the shit I say makes you chose wandering out in a goddamn rainstorm over finishing the argument? And I can't work on my goddamn problems because you won't even give me five fucking minutes to work on them before you butt in," Arthur said growing frustrated, which wasn't helping his headache, but he was too angry to care about it consciously. "And what the fuck have I given you? What is it that you think I'm trying to say?"

"I will not butt in," Eames put his hands up, speaking calmly. "I will let you be when you need it. And I'm not going to put words in your mouth. What you told me the day you came to find me. That's all I need. You'll have to take my word for it."

He'd meant every fucking word of that, and was surprised it carried as much weight with Eames as it seemed to, if that was all he needed. Arthur deflated, Eames' calm influencing him, and he went quiet for a long time as he pieced everything out and tried to sort it, tracing this disconnect back to its roots. "So you love me," Arthur said, the word still felt wrong in his mouth, but it had time to settle. Felt less jarring. "You love me... and that's just it. I don't need to say it back, I don't need to... do anything?"

"Just do whatever. Be yourself. It's all I need."

"You love me," Arthur said again, growing more confident. Something had changed, and Arthur didn't know what, if it was something Eames had said now or the night before, or if it just finally, finally sank in that Eames really was just expressing himself. Not for any gain, not to get Arthur to do anything. Maybe it was childish love, but maybe that was how it was for Eames. Maybe learning people so quickly made it easier to love faster. He grinned a little broader. "You love me."

"I do." Eames held out his hands. "I really do."

Arthur got up from the bed and moved into Eames arms, his own hand finding purchase in Eames' hair and the other at the small of Eames' back as he pulled him in for a deep kiss, with the only pauses being meant for breath.

Eames still smiled into the kiss, shifting the weight of his hips as Arthur pressed his palm to his back. Arthur's mouth opened into the kiss and he let out a moan as Eames' hand cradled his neck. He started walking backwards towards the bed where it would be far more comfortable.

Eames let Arthur turn him, sitting before his calves touched the bed, pulling Arthur down and onto his lap. A comm rang somewhere in the room and then in his pocket, but he turned it off almost immediately without so much as breaking contact before tossing it away and moving his hand to Arthur's back and under the soft shirt.

Arthur laughed, but just as quickly moved back in to continue leaving a trail of kisses. "You sure you don't want to answer that?" Arthur teased, but made absolutely no move to let Eames up as his hands worked to strip him, only occasionally being distracted by the warm skin underneath. He rocked his hips forward, grinding into Eames' lap slowly.

"No, I don't think so," Eames breathed, nipping at Arthur's ear and letting go only to let his shirt slide off his arms, bringing his own palms back to drag Arthur's shirt up impatiently. If he had something else witty to say on the fact, it got lost in a moan as Arthur shifted on his lap, his lips coming to suck on Arthur's shoulder. "And to think you only just got dressed," he finally managed, his voice reduced to a quiet rumble as his hands pulled on the band of Arthur's pants this time.

"I thought you liked undressing me," he teased, before carefully easing himself off Eames lap to finish stripping down. He stepped back into Eames' space and quickly began undoing the clasps of Eames' pants.

"'S more of a nuisance right this second," Eames sighed, before standing as well to help rid himself of the clothes he had left, stealing another kiss.

"Do you expect me to be naked at all times?" Arthur challenged, smiling at how quickly Eames went back to touching him. He kissed back greedily, and his own hands started to rove up Eames' chest, tracing over muscle slowly and then working back down and down until he had Eames in his hand. "Lube?" he asked.

"Oh god, uhm," Eames tried in vain to focus on the question. "Might be in one of the bags I brought with the rest of your hygiene things."

"Might?" Arthur repeated, annoyed they were going to have to stop and look. He moved away reluctantly and crouched down to reach under the bed. He didn't know which bag was which, he hadn't packed them after all, so he unzipped the first one and started looking through it. Mostly clothes. Arthur pushed it aside and reached for the next.

"Sorry, it wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind," Eames chuckled. "At least there's only two bags." He crouched down, helping to dig through the second one.

Arthur found it at the very bottom of the bag and then looked at Eames hungrily. "You. Bed." He ordered. The annoyance at the lube not being readily available was quickly forgotten now that it was. Now he just wanted Eames.

Eames lifted his hands in mock surrender, grinning and backing onto the bed, sitting back. "You, here." He extended his arms again. Arthur grinned back and went, toppling them both backwards and leaning in for a long, slow kiss. His body moved against Eames', desperate for more contact and he let the lube rest on the mattress while his hands found their way back on to Eames, working to get them right back where they left off.

Eames groaned, pressing his hand to the small of Arthur's back, pushing them together, his other hand skimming down Arthur's stomach to return the affection. A sigh and he pushed a knee up between Arthur's, panting and licking into their kiss.

Fuck, it got good quick, and Arthur groaned as he moved against Eames' thigh and into his hand. And Eames loved him. God. Arthur couldn't get over the thought now. Eames _loved_ him. It circled in his head as he palmed Eames, blindly reaching for the lube and spreading it liberally, before gently reaching lower to press in a finger.

Eames sighed out, arching slightly as Arthur pressed in, a leg sliding off the bed as he moved to give Arthur more room. "Well?" he breathed, kissing and stroking every part he could reach.

Arthur grinned wickedly as he continued working only one finger inside. "Well what?" he teased, waiting for Eames to try saying something smart before adding a second finger and squeezing the tip of Eames' cock simultaneously.

"Well, hurry it up..!" Eames cut off with a groan. "Ah- fuck," he bucked his hips into Arthur's hand, dragging Arthur's head down to kiss him, hand stroking messily.

Arthur grinned into the kiss and worked a third finger in, moaning as Eames' hand grew careless. "All right," he said and pulled back only to get aligned, he paused, realizing he'd simply assumed Eames was still fine with not using a condom. "Is this okay?" he asked, "do I need to find the condoms?"

"Oh my god no," Eames groaned, pushing his hips down, hand closing around Arthur's wrist just in case. "Don't you dare."

Arthur's laughter was cut short by a gasp. "Oh, fuck, Eames, Jesus, Eames." He said as he eased himself further inside. Tight. Hot. Arthur thrust in harder, drawing back only slightly before pushing in again.

" _Arthur_." Eames pushed his feet back against the bed, lifting his hips slightly, hands still grasping Arthur's wrists. "Please- shit-" he squirmed, panting, all but urging Arthur to go faster. Arthur complied, unable to help himself from thrusting harder, deeper, as he mouthed at Eames neck.

Eames panted, tilting his chin upwards as Arthur explored his neck, letting his hips roll with with Arthur's thrusts. In a moment, in twenty, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and moaned into Eames' skin as his vision whited out. He went lax, slumping against Eames for a moment. Eames' chest rose and fell beneath him, already slowly leveling out and a hand lifted to stroke through Arthur's hair. "God, I missed you..."

"I missed you too," Arthur said, carefully pulling out and settling at Eames' side. "Shower?" he asked before he leaned in to kiss Eames softly.

"Together?" Eames grinned, kissing back and stroking Arthur's jaw with a finger.

"Of course," Arthur said, smiling back, and forced himself out of bed. He made his way towards the bathroom, lingering in the doorway to wait for Eames.

Eames was only one step behind, pressing kisses along Arthur's neck as soon as he had the chance, before turning on the hot water and stepping in.

Arthur's smile never faded and he returned the affection as he followed. "We should probably see who called," he ventured, still amused by the image of Eames tossing his comm aside.

"Later," Eames mumbled, "if I didn't break it that is." He brought Arthur close again, stealing another kiss. "I seem to have it out for comms these days. Might as well not even get a new one if this one's broke."

"I'll buy you a new one," Arthur said, "one you can throw as far as you want without breaking it, and a protective case." This was how yesterday should have gone. No shying away, no tension, no fight. No threat of going back to friends, or to nothing at all. "We were never really friends, were we?" Arthur asked thoughtfully, somewhat amused at the realization. There always seemed to be something there. A want. An affection.

"What's the difference? No, I guess you're right. What would you say we were then?"

Arthur rested his head on Eames' shoulder. "I don't know," he admitted, still thinking it over as he made himself comfortable against Eames. "Inevitable?" He laughed.

"Maybe." A sigh and Eames pressed his lips to Arthur's ear, smiling slightly. "That's a nice way to put it."

Arthur lifted his head to nip gently at Eames' jawline. The more he considered it, the more accurate it seemed, and maybe if Arthur finally stopped trying to resist and just let himself have what he wanted... "Sorry it took me so long to figure out," he murmured.

"It's alright." Eames smiled, skimming his hands along Arthur's back. "I'm glad you did." A sigh and Eames tilted his head to steal another kiss, sucking at Arthur's upper lip.

God, this was good, Arthur hadn't let himself remember, but God was this good. The sex, the affection, just _Eames_.It was so radically different from anything he'd known, and he wasn't sure he'd been this happy. Not in years. And he kissed back harder, grateful and earnest. Eames dragged his hands up Arthur's spine, tightening his hold. Arthur could hear his comm ringing in the distance, and he sighed unhappily. "We should get that," he said and waited for Eames to let go rather than wriggle free and potentially slip.

Eames sighed heavily, rolling his eyes into his head almost as a plea, but loosened his grip. "Do you want to answer it or shall I? I'll surrender the shower so we can actually get clean in turn."

"Do you mind?" Arthur asked, half worried it may have been Renate looking to continue lecturing him and he didn't want to sour the mood. In all likelihood, it was just Pan trying to get in touch and make sure he was interrupting anything if he came to pick up his clothes.

"No, go ahead." Eames shifted, stepping away from the shower and leaning his hand on the wall, making sure he was stable and not about to slip and fall. "I wonder how much upgrading Rooks shower for two would be..."

"We should look into that," Arthur said, grinning mischievously as he stepped out and ran a towel through his hair. Then he wrapped it around his waist and left Eames to shower in peace while he accepted the wave.

"I see why you've been ignoring my calls," Pan observed, some of his annoyance fading, "anyway, it's about as dry as it's gonna get, so if you can keep your mitts off each other until I've got my stuff, that'd be real swell."

"I'll do my best," Arthur promised, grinning smugly, as Pan rolled his eyes and hung up. They'd have to ask if he'd help them move their belongings when he arrived.

"Was that Pan? Do we need to get dressed?"

"Depends on how many faces you want to see him make," Arthur said, "He did ask us to keep our hands to ourselves, though." And he moved to where Eames was standing. There wasn't anything to stop him from running a hand over his chest, fingers gently tracing tattoos, before he noticed marks starting to darken along Eames neck. He tapped one gently. "You might need to button your collars up all the way," Arthur said, torn between apologetic and self-satisfied.

"Why would I want to do that?" Eames smirked, resting his own hands on Arthur's hips. "I look silly all buttoned up - in fact I don't think I brought any shirts which do that."

Arthur grinned, and leaned in for a quick kiss before stepping away and towards the bed. "If you're fine with it," he said, feeling absurdly pleased with everything, even as he pulled out his bag and dressed. His stomach whined, and as soon as he had a respectable amount of clothing in on he went for the bagel. "Thanks, by the way," he said as he picked it up and tore it in half. "We should get lunch after this." No way was half a bagel enough for both of them.

"Sounds like a good idea." Eames put the half bagel in his mouth, finishing buttoning his shirt before taking it back in his hand.

"Then we're moving into Rook," Arthur said, "the credits we save can go towards a new shower." He still wanted those forged IdentCards. They might come in handy and Pan had already transferred the money. Arthur took a bite of bagel and realized this was probably just going to make him hungrier, but at least he'd enjoy whatever it was they ended up eating. "There's a place with good noodles a few blocks away," he said. He'd gone there a few times, and couldn't help but remember noodles were Eames' favorite. Sometimes he wondered if he was some kind of masochist, but it didn't change anything and Pan probably assumed they'd gone so many times because it was convenient and consistent. He finished off the bagel and took a few sips of water that Eames had brought along with the coffee.

"Is there?" Eames perked up. "Do I need to help you pack or will we leave after Pan does?"

"You can help me pack, I doubt Pan would refuse us a ride back to the docks with him," Arthur said as he he headed for the bathroom to gather the only things he really needed to pack. Even his dirtied clothes were stowed in a laundry bag, ready to be grabbed. He hadn't made much of an effort to move in, just in case he needed to bolt. "And if you could remember where you pack the lube..." he teased.

"At least I brought it," Eames said, rolling his eyes. "I could have not and then what would you have done?"

"Sucked you off," Arthur answered without missing a beat. He'd already considered it. "Then gone out to buy some." He brought his toiletries out in their vinyl bag, and set them out on the bed before he crouched to grab his other bags from under the bed. "You really think I wouldn't have another plan?"

"Oh no, I was certain of it. Annoyed blow jobs are something of a curiosity to me now though - how different would they be?" Eames grinned before laughing, sitting on the bed having finished gathering most things he could find.

"I would have taken my time," Arthur taunted, "if that tells you anything." And then he moved to stand in front of him, leaning down to pull Eames into a slow kiss, unable to resist.

"Oh, it does." Eames leaned into the kiss, humming contently. "Good thing I had packed it. I'm not sure I would have withstood that torture," he said, fingers playing along the back of Arthur's neck.

Arthur let out an abortive moan. He wasn't sure if he hated or loved how much Eames touched his neck. "Eames," he said, almost a whine, "hands."

Eames lifted his palm, keeping it up in mock surrender as he brought it back down. "No fun," he whined, pocketing both hands this time although he was still leaning forward.

"Come on," Arthur coaxed, smirking into the kiss, "you've had practice," he licked at Eames bottom lip and startled when the door opened behind him.

"I should have known." Pan groused as he stepped in. "Couldn't even make it ten minutes?"

Eames showed Pan his empty hands. "As promised, I believe."

"You sneak," Pan accused, pointing at Arthur. "You rule bending sneak. You sure you won't come with me?"

Arthur looked between him and Eames like he was considering. "No contest," he said and dropped a kiss to Eames' temple before he stepped away to a more polite distance. "Mind giving us a lift to the docks?"

"As long as you don't start making out in the back seat. There are some things a man shouldn't see," Pan exaggerated as he grabbed his things, double taking at the fact his bed had been stripped of its blanket. "I don't wanna know. I don't wanna know."

They packed and loaded everything into Pan's transport, after which he excused himself under the pretext that he forgot something and would check them out while he was going to get it. He wasn't about to leave his guns, but he didn't really want Eames to see them, either. Not quite yet, with the previous night still such a sore spot. Pan would keep Eames entertained, he was sure.

But when Arthur made his way back down, shut the trunk and got into the driver's seat, Pan punched him hard in the shoulder. "What--" he began, clearly agitated, but Pan cut him off with: "For whatever the fuck you did last night."

Arthur froze, then nodded quietly and started the car. He was thankful, somewhat, that Eames hadn't said anything beyond the fact something had happened. Pan's reaction could have been much worse.

They took Pan out to the noodle shop, which Arthur ended up regretting considering how much Pan insisted on bullying him and pointing out the noodles he'd ordered every time to Eames. So they had reminded him of the rice dish that Eames had made on Black Rock, it wasn't something worth harping on. Nor was the fact that his feet were all but entwined with Eames' under the table.

Afterwards, talk turned to shop and what Eames needed to repay the repair of his ship. The repair of his ship was rushed to boot, and it was starting to look like they had their whole schedule tightly packed if they were going to try to procure everything and not take years doing it. Arthur could pull favors but there was no way they were going to cover everything. Space ships were expensive.

A lot of the annoyance at Pan probably stemmed from the fact he'd been dealing with Pan for an entire week in close quarters, but some of it was just a natural clash of personalities. It wasn't any lack of friendship, but Arthur realized he would have preferred it if Eames had kept it to the two of them. In fact, all he wanted was to take Eames and his ship and take off, leave everything behind but he'd put in an order for IdentCards he knew he'd need and they weren't going to be available for several days yet.

After they'd eaten, they were on their way. Arthur stopped at Rook first. Pan would drive himself back, but he took the time to help unload the trunk before he bid them farewell. Arthur grabbed his things and started up the stairs. "In the room or the cockpit?"

"In the room. There's no way both of us are fitting in the cockpit. I'll have to get used to sleeping without a night light."

Arthur nodded. It would have been a tight fit. He headed up into the room, stepping inside and taking in the fact that this was home now. Not some temporary arrangement he was living in until it was time to pack up and move on. Home. Home where Eames loved him, and he had to blink back tears as he laughed at himself for becoming so emotional over a gorramn room.

"You alright over there?" Eames dropped the bags he was holding on the unnaturally clean floor near the bed then neared.

Arthur nodded rather than try to speak, and carefully set his things down before turning to face Eames and pulling him into a tight embrace. He wanted to hear Eames say it again. Say that he loved him, that they were home, _finally_."I'm fine," he said, voice still clogged with too much emotion, "better than fine." This felt more real than words and plans. More permanent. And that felt _good_.

Eames smiled, returning the hug and pressing a kiss to Arthur's temple. "I'm glad you like it. And I'm glad you're back. On this ship. With me."

Arthur laughed, not because it was inherently funny, but because he didn't know what else to do with the feelings welling inside of him. He held Eames tighter and kissed him properly. Slow, and gentle as he cupped his face, completely unable to care if he ended up sick too. They had all the time in the 'Verse to unpack, all he wanted at the moment was Eames. And Eames just tucked his hands into Arthur's coat and tilted his head a little further to the side, licking his way into Arthur's mouth.

Arthur made a soft noise and opened his mouth instantly as he tried to carefully maneuver them towards the bed. He was cold and damp, and Eames was too. Under the covers seemed the better place to be if Eames allowed it. But Eames stepped back, pushing at the lapels of Arthur's damp coat. "We'd better hang these unless we want them to still be wet by the time we deign to get out of bed."

Eames did have a point and if they didn't do it now, Arthur would only have to get up and hang them later to prevent the wet material from reeking and setting in wrinkles. He could delay gratification for that, so he took off his coat and opened the closet to hang it. Tt was otherwise empty and the coat only damp now so he didn't mind putting it up in there. He held out a hand for Eames' so he could put it up as well.

Eames shrugged off his coat immediately, handing it over and toeing off his shoes in the process before drawing Arthur near him again for a brief kiss before remembering something else this time. "Do we need to go find the lube too? Or not for now?"

Arthur smiled in amusement. "Might as well have it," he said. It would need to be unpacked at some point, might as well be the first thing. "Actually..." he said and moved towards one of the bags to pull out a t-shirt and boxer-briefs for himself, and then moved almost automatically to grab the same for Eames. He changed into dry clothes quickly and then snagged the blankets off the bed. "Be right back," he promised, and took the bedding to the laundry area, where he tossed them into the dryer for a few minutes.

He returned triumphantly and wrapped the nearly hot blanket around them both before attempting to walk Eames back towards the bed.

"And here I thought you decided to build a fort some place," Eames laughed, falling easily back. He'd unpacked a couple of things they might need, now or later, and had changed. "Or a nest. It is warmer in the engine room when it's on."

"Yes, but here there's already a mattress and there's you," Arthur said, leaving kisses along Eames' neck, working his way to Eames' jaw. "That's better than a fort," he added, smiling down at Eames before he lowered himself to mouth at Eames' bottom lip.

"Well I'm glad the mattress is points in my favor," Eames chuckled, anchoring his hands on the small of Arthur's back and kissing back, eyes falling easily closed

Arthur rolled them onto their sides in case they ended up falling asleep, and to tangle their legs together. "It's also safer here than in the engine room."

"And quieter," Eames agreed, pressing his knee between Arthur's to catch the leg in his, humming contently. "Variable on the lighting but there's also a communication board in here now. So we don't have to go too far to take waves."

"I'm sold," Arthur said and kissed Eames' neck, "how much for this room, including everything in it? And I mean everything."

"I dunno, am I going to let out at all or stay here forever?" Eames smiled, stroking his fingers up Arthur's spine, turning his head to brush his lips against Arthur's temple. "Hint: it's cheaper if you don't let me out ever."

Arthur sighed, completely content and basking in the affection Eames offered. "I wouldn't want to pass up a good deal," he said and his hands found Eames' sides, sliding under the shirt to touch skin. Eames hummed in agreement, taking the time to kiss every part of Arthur's face he could reach, slowing down as his body grew used to the warmth and nodded gradually off to sleep. Arthur didn't last much longer, falling asleep with his hands still tucked under Eames shirt and his face buried in Eames neck. It was too easy to fall asleep with him, and Arthur wouldn't have wanted to wake him anyway. Not with that cold.


	16. Chapter 16

It was approximately around dinner time when Arthur awoke and Eames was stirring as well. He felt a kiss pressed to his forehead. "Hey, you want dinner?"

Arthur blinked his eyes open and shifted in a small stretch. "Yeah," he answered and forced himself to draw back and let Eames up. "Do you want me to make you some soup?" Arthur offered. He could manage that much cooking.

"Soup?" Eames grinned, ducking down to press his lips to Arthur's. "You'd make me soup? What kind?"

"Depends on what you have," Arthur said as he carefully climbed over Eames to get out of bed. "And why wouldn't I make you soup?" he asked, rolling his eyes as he headed towards the kitchen.

" _We_ have all sorts of stuff," Eames followed, grabbing the bottle of medicine as he passed it. "Chicken, fish, beef, vegetables, mushrooms even though they're dried. Even picked up some fresh tomatoes. It's a full kitchen, restocked just two days ago or so."

Arthur turned in the doorway, blocking Eames in. "I thought we agreed I wasn't letting you out," he teased. But he wanted to make the soup on his own, rather than have Eames watch him struggle to find and follow a recipe. Not to mention, Eames was sick, and Arthur felt partially responsible. Rest would do him more good than over the counter cold medicine. "I'll bring it to you," he promised.

A grin and Eames raised his hands, backtracking to the bed. "I'm going to be no use to you at all soon."

"Good. Then you can wait for me in bed," he teased before heading first towards the cockpit to find a simple soup recipe and print it. He took it to the kitchen and went to work, boiling water and adding ingredients as instructed. It took significantly longer than the pre-packaged variety, but it tasted better. At least Arthur thought so when he tasted the finished product. He ladled it out into the deepest bowls Eames had and brought them into the room on a tray set with spoons and cups of water.

Eames liked his concoction, which was high praise as far as Arthur was concerned and they argued about the merits of noodles versus bananas and Arthur found out Eames had never looked up recipes on the Cortex, didn't even know about them. Which made the fact that Eames remembered everything he did all the more impressive though Eames thought it just made him useless. Not to discourage him, Arthur gathered up the plates, heading to the sink to wash them.

"Oh come on, do you want me to get fat and lazy?" Eames complained, following Arthur into the kitchen. "Cause I really doubt you'll like me when I'm blubberous."

"I don't know, a nice layer of fat means I wouldn't have to worry about you leaving me for someone more attractive, you'd be softer and more comfortable," Arthur teased. "It's too bad that sex burns calories. I don't think I could give that up." He started on the pot after he dropped the bowls in the sink, scrubbing it with a soapy rag.

"A nice layer of fat won't protect me from losing circulation from your girth sleeping on me, that's for certain," Eames patted Arthur's ass playfully before hip checking himself some room near the sink. "At least let me dry, oh jailor."

Arthur surrendered the washed pot to him, as requested. "My girth?" he repeated skeptically. "Are you saying my ass is too big, or some other part of my anatomy?"

"I'm afraid your dick doesn't come with a set of heavy bones, in the skeletal sense," Eames grinned, taking up the kitchen towel to dry as Arthur finished washing. "And if it is capable of cutting of circulation I should probably be worried."

"Girth is width, not density," Arthur teased, trotting out precise meanings just to patronize, "You called me wide not heavy. And you're enough of an asshole that my _girth_ shouldn't be a problem." He passed over the finished bowl, and moved on to the next.

"Unfortunately I can count on a wide ass to also be heavy, to have mass, to be _massive_." Eames took the bowl, using Arthur's distraction to press a quick kiss to his ear. "Which is what causes cut of circulation when you sleep on me like the octopus you deny being."

"Once! I slept on you once," Arthur defended, "and you're an octopus while you're _awake_ , so I don't want to hear it. And my ass is not massive." He passed over the other bowl and started on the spoons, and decided he still wanted his water. "Are you done with your glass?" he asked, pausing their verbal spar for just a moment.

"I've never denied it while you did. But yes I'm done," Eames confirmed, setting both bowls in their place as soon as he was finished with drying them. "And my octopusing doesn't cut off your circulation, does it now?"

"Once doesn't make me an octopus," Arthur maintained as he passed over the washed spoons and cup. He left Eames to it as he refilled his own and took another drink. "And it doesn't, but you're still being an octopus."

Eames put away the utensils and towel, before peeking into the pot of soup remaining. "I'm fairly certain the only difference between our octopuses is that I'm brightly colored and predicting the Cup winners while you're hiding in a shell pretending to be invisible."

"How do I manage that with my massive ass?" Arthur asked, though that was a surprisingly on point comparison. "But I'll keep my limbs accounted for from now on," he promised.

"Have you seen the brains on those things? It's a close comparison. But why should you keep your limbs to yourself? Embrace your octopus nature. Eat fish and crabs, spill ink all over the place, break out of places with entrances as big as your break." Eames shrugged. "It's a high life when you accept your true octopus nature."

Arthur laughed so hard he almost snorted the water he'd been trying to drink and he rubbed his nose to chase away the burn. "Embrace my octopus nature," he mused, only to deadpan: "but you've made me so self-conscious about it."

"Which part, the beak or the large brain? Or the many arms?" Eames made a wavy motion with his own arms, grinning. "Or changing color? Or escaping through holes the size of your beak? I've said quite a lot."

"All of it, but more prominently the 'octopusing' I'm prone to at night." Arthur clarified, sipping his water more carefully.

"As long as my circulation is intact, there's no reason for me to complain. The ink is probably more of an issue, hard to wash out." Eames shrugged again, pocketing his hands and leaning against the counter.

"But I was looking forward to inking you," Arthur feigned a pout, "be more permanent than the marks on your neck."

"If you want," Eames automatically brought his hand to his shoulder. "Design a tattoo for me?"

Arthur blinked, stunned and almost unable to believe Eames would let him do that. "You would literally let me ink you?" He had to double check, and saying it stirred at something possessive, and the fact it was a tattoo. God yes. "Where?"

"Dunno, probably keep it in the group of with the rest. Depends on what it is, it might fit some place more than anything I can name off the top of my head." Eames was looking at him like he'd said something adorable but Arthur couldn't even bring himself to mind.

Eames could call him uncreative if he wanted, but the more Arthur considered it, the more he liked the idea. "What about an octopus," he asked, "wrapped around your side?" He stepped close to put hand where he meant, on Eames' left where there was open space. He wanted to be able to see it from anywhere, and he'd considered higher up, but if Eames wanted to hide it that would prove difficult.

It was Eames' turn to laugh and he remained grinning even when the giggles had passed, putting his hand on Arthur's cheek. "I think that's a brilliant idea, in fact. Very fitting."

"You're really going to let me design it?" Arthur asked, triple-checking now, the excitement still very much there. He may not have been able to wield the gun himself, but Arthur knew how to draw. Then he thought for a moment, and hesitantly asked, "Do you want to design a tattoo for me?"

"You only have to ask," Eames grinned, taking the first question as rhetorical. "I hadn't know you were planning on joining the tattooed all over the place league. And it better be the most adorable octopus and nothing less."

"Is that your design for me, or are you telling me how to design your tattoo?" Arthur asked, mostly teasing.

"I'll have to think about yours." Eames smiled. "Any size or placement requirements?"

"Not my face," Arthur said, but he doubted Eames needed to be told that, "but other than that... I guess I'd like to be able to conceal it." He also trusted Eames to have enough sense to not suggest anything completely outrageous, like a flaming dick or something equally immature and tasteless. If it was going to be his first, and potentially only, tattoo he'd like it to mean something, but he'd agree to what Eames suggested.

"I'll think about it. In fact, bother me if I don't get back to you."

If Eames needed to be prodded... Arthur took it as a lack of interest. It sounded too much like a brush off. He wouldn't press though; he was only slightly disappointed anyway. If he really wanted a tattoo, he could come up with one on his own. He patted Eames' side and stepped away. "Think the soup has cooled enough?"

"Probably not, it's only been maybe fifteen minutes," Eames said absently. "We should probably actually unpack this time."

Soon enough they were done with everything that needed doing and, lacking any better options, settled in to read on the bed. Which wasn't bad just... It was strange to miss Eames while he was in the room, but Arthur did. He wanted to talk, just talk, he didn't even have anything in mind, but he wanted to hear Eames' thoughts on... anything. Arthur shifted and his gaze flickered to Eames, fleeting and at irregular intervals while he read, but he maintained his silence.

"Something the matter? I can move my legs if you want."

Arthur's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, but then smoothed out. "No, you're fine," he said. What else was he going to do? Whine that Eames wasn't paying attention to him? Except he was, just... not how Arthur wanted. The dumbest part was the fact that he had been the one to suggest reading. He started reading again, not sure how to broach the subject, or if he even should. Eames had said something about not wanting to focus all his attention on Arthur. Granted the context was different, but he took the criticism to heart and opted not to say anything. Instead he focused on the book, and kept still.

Eames withdrew his legs from Arthur's shins, righting himself normally on the bed and leaning his head against Arthur's shoulder so he could look at the book in Arthur's hands. "Which part are you on?"

Arthur had to contain his surprise and turned his head to smile into Eames' hair, leaving the book open for Eames to read if he was really that curious. "How did you know?" Arthur asked, partially embarrassed, but largely glad. Impressed even.

Eames shrugged, looking upwards. "It's the first time it's been quiet. If it wasn't my feet, it was the only thing I could think of." He settled a little bit closer, continuing. "And it was quite quiet. So, this is the beginning right? Do you remember what this is about, it's been a while since I've read this one, too."

Arthur had to steal a kiss before he answered. Eames left him with no choice. "Very good, Eames," he said sarcastically, "you recognized I'm about fifty pages in a nearly four-hundred page novel. This is the one about dream sharing. A group of people go in and try to plant an idea in someone's head through a carefully constructed dream."

"Oh, yes." Eames butted his head against Arthur's shoulder a little bit harder, to jostle him. "It's a predictable book - why are you rereading it? You really like it?"

"I felt like I could use something predictable," Arthur mused. The truth was he'd chosen it out of nostalgia, and he happened to like it. "Are you telling me you don't reread books?" He nudged Eames' head with his shoulder back, making a weak effort to get Eames off of him.

"Well, sure I do, but that means I love the book to pieces, or I'm so bored to death anything will do." Eames sat up, pressing a kiss to Arthur's temple. "Am I boring you, darling?"

Arthur relished in the attention, the shared space, the meaningless teasing. "Maybe," he said mischievously, absently noting the page but he didn't mind if he lost his place.

"You're the one that suggested books," Eames grinned, bringing his mouth to Arthur's jaw lightly. "But I'd hate to be boring you. I guess I have to come up with some other entertainment since you can't be trusted?"

Arthur tilted his head on instinct, silently encouraging Eames to stay. "What were you going to suggest then?" he challenged as he shifted in closer.

"Hmm," Eames hummed contently, pondering the question. "What about the tattoo? Are you going to get the other one you mention as well?"

"I haven't decided." Arthur said, "While we're talking about this, do you have a pen and paper?" He wanted to sketch it out and see if Eames approved. Although, maybe he shouldn't be so eager about it. He glanced away, silently reprimanding himself.

"That's a brilliant idea." Eames sat up immediately, fishing out a pad of paper and a pen from the drawers under the bed, handing them off. "Maybe watching you draw will give me some sort of idea. And I want to see you draw. Designing a tattoo is really hard when you can't draw anything besides stick figures."

Arthur could draw. It was part of being in architecture, even if he hadn't gone very far. Having a good memory and sense of space helped though and he accepted the pad of paper and began drawing. He decided to show off, do a bit more than just a rough sketch, drawing Eames' torso first from the side, and once that was done, he started outlining and then detailing the octopus, shading carefully to add depth without taking away from the texture. He added the tentacles curving around Eames, following the natural lines of his body to help it look real.

"What do you think?" he asked, since Eames had remained quiet while he drew. And suddenly he was nervous. He wanted Eames to like it, but what if he didn't?

"I love it," Eames said immediately, taking the drawing from Arthur's hands for closer inspection before hiking up his shirt to compare. "How does it look?"

All of Arthur's apprehension fled and he beamed. "Pretty damn good," he said, still thrilled that Eames liked it, and he traced his finger along where he imaged the tattoo would be. "I can change it though, if there's something you don't like," he said, his hand stilling.

"Oh, no, it's good. Perfect. So about one for you..." Flipping to the next page, Eames stole the pen and propped the book up on his knees, frowning in concentration at the page as he tried to draw. "Kind of like this?" He held up the book after several scribbled out versions of something Arthur couldn't see. On the page was a carefully sketched proportional map of the system superimposed onto a figure of a chess piece. A rook.

Arthur took the pad, smiling at the image. "I like it," he said. "Where?"

They argued about it for a bit before finally deciding on the front of Arthur's shoulder. That way Arthur could see it. "I almost had the impression you weren't interested in designing one," Arthur admitted as he scanned over the rejected ideas.

"That's not true. I was more worried about... Well, it is your first, and if it's your only it's gotta be at least decent. And there was nothing I could come up with on the spot." Eames shrugged again. "That or large and I'm not sure you'd want to go that big."

That had been a good call, Arthur didn't necessarily want his body to be dominated by a single tattoo. "Did you have ideas for something bigger?" he asked, curiously. Not that he was interested in it, he was quite happy with what Eames had given him.

"Not specifically. But there are plenty of folk who will design gorgeous sleeves on a single topic. That's out of my drawing capabilities. Something geometric though. Also, something tacking up the whole pectoral and shoulder muscles usually works real well, but I can't say I have any clear ideas. Also, I'm not quite sure I'd be comfortable with making you something that big." He grinned sheepishly.

"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur said. He wasn't counting on designing another tattoo for himself, but he wasn't against the idea either. It wasn't like there was a deadline, or a cut off point. "But really, you were nervous about it?" he teased. Not that he hadn't been nervous as to his idea would be received, but he still felt he could tease Eames about it.

"Well, sure, taking your tattoo virginity like that, it's a big responsibility," Eames teased back, scooting over to sit next to Arthur now that they weren't trying to draw.

Arthur nipped at Eames jaw. "Mm," he hummed, then added with a smirk, "thank you for being gentle with me." He settled in, feeling blissfully content.

"Always," Eames grinned, tilting his head to catch Arthur's lips this time, still smiling. "I'm still surprised you even want one."

Arthur let that thought sit. Gentle. Eames really was, amazingly enough, despite his roguish appearance and criminal tendencies, he was affectionate and considerate. Words Arthur would never use to describe Ts'ao. And maybe that was why he'd rolled over that night, given Eames control because he'd noticed how careful he was. How every touch had been about both of them. It was why Arthur could trust and rely on him. "I'm surprised you offered to let me design one for you," Arthur shot back, before kissing softly.

"Well, that's me, all covered in ink already." Eames kissed back, pausing for a little. "And you and this are important to me. If you hadn't suggested it I would have gotten one anyway, at some point..."

He couldn't help but smile at being thought of as important. "What were you thinking about getting?" he asked, not sure what Eames reasoning was. If it was just about time for another, or if Eames decided on impulse.

"I dunno. When I came up with it I would have got it, for now I'm not sure. For simplicity's sake I could have just gotten your name."

"My name?" Arthur asked, "It's a little soon for that isn't it?" he joked, as his emotions pulled in different directions. Instinct and habit made him worry, had him anxious, but there was still warmth. The fact Eames felt he was significant enough to etched into his skin... it was a powerful feeling. Not that different from when Eames made the suggestion he design one. "But I guess the octopus isn't that different, is it?"

"It's way better and more interesting. And at least a decision had been reached. I'll get mine when we have time and you can get yours when you feel like it. Just so it doesn't feel rushed."

Arthur laughed. "It's a tattoo. I'll get it when you get yours, and if I change my mind I'll get it removed." But he wouldn't change his mind. He liked the design, and he loved that it had come from Eames. "You _are_ worried," he couldn't resist teasing again. Not with it so blatant.

"Wouldn't you be worried, what with a darling young man like yourself offering to put his own skin under the needle for you? Especially one that wears silk trousers to bed," Eames grinned, leaning in to kiss Arthur again. "Whatever it is it should be good and have the least chance of you changing your mind about it."

"I love it, I'm not going to change my mind," Arthur said, "and I'm going to ignore the slight aimed at my satin pants, because I'm assuming the only reason you don't like them is that you're jealous. Or mad that I'm wearing clothes to bed."

"Or because they're girly as shit." A laugh and Eames pulled on the waistband playfully. "What is their purpose even? How are they nicer than plain old cotton sheets?"

"Girly?" Arthur repeated, unimpressed. Then he took Eames' hand and guided it along his thigh. "Notice the difference?" he asked, "Much nicer than cotton."

"Mm, much better than a mattress, I'd say, but not as comfortable. At least you won't slide off the bed with cotton sheets, I can only imagine the lack of friction in those," Eames ran his hand upward again, tracing the line of the muscle.

"You wouldn't slide off the bed with satin sheets, not unless you have pre-existing issues with falling out of bed. How much friction do you think you need?" Arthur quipped.

"I like quite a bit of friction, if you get my meaning," Eames purred, pressing his lips to the skin under Arthur's ear and playing with the band of Arthur's pants once more.

Arthur had to force himself turn his head away. "You're going to make fun of my pants and then try to get in them?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow with no small measure of skepticism, even though he couldn't bring himself to actually remove Eames' hand from his waistband.

"Not in them, more like them off," Eames said, grinning into the hairline Arthur presented him with. "But, you know, semantics." His fingers slipped slightly past the band, teasing the soft skin underneath.

"I swear you do this on purpose." Arthur complained, "You wait until I get dressed and then decide to do this," he continued, shifting as he tried to keep his hips still. To be fair, Eames had waited a bit longer this time; Arthur had taken a while to finish his drawing. "Keep doing this and I'm not even going to waste my time," he threatened.

"Not going to waste your time getting dressed? I suppose that's the point, isn't it?" Eames curled his hand around Arthur's hip, fingers running down the crest his hipbone and mouthed at the parts of Arthur's neck and shoulder he could reach, covered in fabric or not.

Well that just wasn't fair, Eames knew what that did to him, and Arthur almost whined as he tilted his head and offered the column of his neck down to his shoulders. "Alright," he sighed shakily, "not my best deterrent." He wasn't sure how it had escaped him, other than his attention had been elsewhere. "But I'm not enjoying this," he said, no matter how much the obvious was obvious.

"You're not?" Eames looked at him curiously and Arthur made a mental note to really talk to Eames about submission and dominance. But not now.

"Not even a little bit," he said, trying to keep his voice firm though it came out coy.

"And you're not going to make noises if I do this?" Eames' hand slipped past his waist band and his palm pressed against Arthur's rapidly hardening erection, lips searching out spots on Arthur's neck at the same time.

Arthur pursed his lips together instead of answering, eyes closing. He'd picked a game he was going to lose but he was going to give it his best shot.

"Oh, but I love it when you make noises, come now, Arthur," Eames purred into his ear and Arthur squirmed as Eames' fingers curled around his fully hard cock now, moving painfully slow and gentle, his other hand pushing him carefully down onto the mattress. And Arthur trusted him to be gentle, to drive Arthur mad unless Arthur told him otherwise. And Eames _loved_ him.

A soft whimper did escape him then and his arms found purchase on Eames' shoulders.

"There, love, just like that." Eames' hands were roaming under his shirt now, pushing it upwards so he could press kisses down Arthur's stomach, then they were drawing his pants down and off and Arthur broke again when lips touched the head of his cock. "Perfect, darling, use that lovely voice for me." Arthur shivered as Eames licked at him but stayed quiet, only panting softly and closing his eyes.

"Shy?" Eames was saying and Arthur felt his hips being lifted and then a tongue pressed against his entrance, prodding and exploring and- fuck. Arthur pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. Eames didn't comment, only continued, tongue wiggling in and stretching him just a bit as it writhed inside him and Arthur couldn't help but gasp around his hand, teeth pressing into the skin.

"That's a start," Eames' voice said and then slick fingers were pressing into him and Arthur did moan this time, eyes opening.

"Eames-"

"Moan for me, darling."

And Arthur did, shamelessly, groaning when Eames hooked Arthur's knees on his shoulders and pushed forward, encouraging him with sweet words, letting Arthur scratch his back with blunt fingernails as he pushed inside. "Louder, darling, go on, make some noise- that's it." Arthur was helpless but to follow everything Eames said, calling his name, cursing, moaning as Eames fucked him. He forgot everything but how to follow what the raspy, accented voice told him and to cling to broad shoulders, rocking with the haphazard rhythm of Eames' thrusts.

Eames moaned with him as Arthur climaxed and finished only a couple of thrusts later, spilling inside Arthur within a moment. But thankfully he didn't leave off there. He still kissed and coaxed and whispered sweet nothings until Arthur asked him for a glass of water and that appeared in his hands as if he'd wished it into existence.

And he might have. Eames was perfect, Eames had no idea what he was doing to Arthur but he did everything Arthur could ever want. They needed to talk, Eames couldn't run on intuition alone, but even that had been amazing. So Arthur left it and showered, then tucked himself into Eames' side.

\---

He still didn't bring it up when they woke. They could have these games where Arthur would suggest and Eames would follow and do everything Arthur wanted and could safely control. It wouldn't be enough but if Eames didn't like what Arthur had to say he might not even have that.

Eames didn't push either. Maybe he was as uncomfortable with the subject as Arthur thought, maybe he had no idea anything had been different about either night... Arthur just enjoyed breakfast and basking in Eames' presence and easy banter.

Arthur told Eames about the Core, about the places they could visit, the private nude beach he'd learned to sneak into. It looked like they wouldn't be able to get there anytime soon but it was nice to reminisce. Eventually, they headed out, borrowing Pan's transport again so they could stock up on food and entertainment. If they were going to gather everything they needed to repay their debts, they would be travelling into the Border and would need much more non-perishable food than they had.

"Do you think we should take a drive?" Eames suggested once they started to head back.

"As long as we're back before six, Pan has a date," Arthur said. He didn't mind a long drive either, and he wondered what he'd have to do to get Eames to let him drive at some point. "Which reminds me, next time I offer to take you out, try not to invite someone else." Not that a tiny noodle place was a romantic setting, but it was what was available, and Eames didn't seem to need candlelit dinners and violins.

"I was just trying to be polite. But noted. Didn't know it was a _date_ ," Eames laughed, taking his attention off the road for a second to nudge Arthur's shoulder. "They were good noodles. Although I don't know what Pan found so funny about it being close to something I made."

"Yeah, see if I ever try to do it again," Arthur half-warned. "Pan thinks everything's funny." It wasn't like Eames didn't already know Arthur had missed him so covering didn't seem reasonable but... He shifted, a little embarrassed despite his own reassurances.

"Does he really? I'd believe that if you weren't acting like you've got something to hide."

Arthur made a face. "He already told you I had those noodles each time we went... you said they tasted like something you made, do I really need to explain that they reminded me of you?" He started to pick at the armrest, more embarrassed than as nonchalant as he'd tried to sound.

"Oh!" Eames said, surprised like he hadn't made the connection. "Aw, I'm flattered, Arthur. You like me and you like my cooking, it's almost like Yuletide and my birthday came on the same day."

"You're easy to please," Arthur chided, still feeling exposed but it was fading fast. Eames seemed happy to hear it, maybe not quite Yuletide and birthday rolled into one, but genuinely happy. Enough that he didn't mind being so honest.

"I am where you're concerned," Eames agreed easily, pulling out onto the main road. "I'd say it was adorable but then you'd probably hate me."

"I just want to remind you, I know where you sleep," Arthur said as a heavily feigned threat, an act he quickly dropped. "And yes, I like you and I like your cooking, and it would take a lot more than that to make me hate you," he admitted, "For the record."

"Well, it's a good thing it's on record then, cause you do know where I sleep and I know where you sleep and you _are_ adorable." Eames smiled, satisfied.

"Asshole," Arthur responded without missing a beat, but he was smiling too. And he knew he wasn't going to be anywhere Eames wasn't for very long. He didn't care where they ended up. "The medicine seems to be working," he commented, hopeful that Eames would confirm as much. He might have been congested, but as long as it didn't get worse Arthur couldn't complain.

"Yeah. Guess it wasn't as bad as I thought. We're still having that soup for lunch though," Eames half warned.

Arthur laughed. "Should I take that as you being lazy, or that my soup was that good?" he asked, a smile still at the corners of his mouth as Eames drove.

"I'm not lazy," Eames complained immediately, poking Arthur's head with his finger lightly in protest. "What is wrong with wanting to eat soup that my Arthur made for a sick me? Nothing, I say."

"'Your Arthur'?" Arthur repeated, feigning more offense than he felt, which was none at all. He ignored the poke entirely, because reacting would only earn him more of the same he was sure.

"Mine," Eames agreed, playing haughty. "And my soup. So there."

Arthur looked down to hide a brighter smile threatening to split his face. It was too light-hearted to stir any alarm, and it only made him feel wanted. "Yours," he agreed as he took Eames hand and kissed the palm.

Eames froze at that, eyes now focused intently on the road. Arthur frowned as Eames started to pull over to the side, and his frown deepened when Eames parked the transport. "Something wro--?" and then Eames was leaning over and Arthur understood. He opened his mouth to the kiss, and turned to face Eames better as he licked and teased, holding his hand tightly still.

All this because he'd agreed? That was all he needed to say? Arthur kissed back, and pressed in closer as Eames' hand traveled over his skin. "All yours," he murmured softly.

"And I, yours," Eames breathed, carefully mapping a small portion of Arthur's chin and jaw before returning to his lips again.

"Tell me something I don't know," he teased as Eames mouthed at his jaw. How could he not, when Eames showed how he felt so easily and so freely. Explained it in no uncertain terms. Maybe Arthur had just assumed it was too good to be true, but he knew now, as Eames gently explored his mouth, that it was completely sincere. Arthur wrapped a hand around Eames' neck, his fingers buried in his hair before he pulled back and rested his forehead against Eames' as he caught his breath.

"Anytime you want me to," Eames agreed, lifting both hands to Arthur's jaw, panting slightly. "I'm yours and I love you and I want you and you are so bloody gorgeous I don't know what to do with you half the time," he sighed in a prolonged stream of words, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as his hands stroked Arthur's face, sliding through the hair on the back of his neck. "And you make me soup, even."

Arthur didn't know what to say, so he moved in for a gentle kiss. "It scares me how little it takes to keep you happy," he teased lightly. But he was glad. Glad he didn't need to buy dozens of flowers and jewelry and make all of the arrangements in the hopes that Eames would give him the time of day. He was glad he could have bad days, that Eames called him out on his shit, and he was so, so glad, Eames always came back. "I'll always make you soup," he promised, because it was easier for him to say, even though he meant so much more than that.

"Very little," Eames nodded before stealing another kiss as Arthur stopped talking. Then yet another kiss and he was interrupted by soft tapping of rain on the roof. "Oh, are you serious? More rain?"

"It's rained about eighty percent of the time I've been here. You want me to drive?" he offered, used to it at this point. Not that Eames had much trouble back in Dell, but those roads had been paved at least.

"It's not that it's just - is it too much to ask for some blue skies when I'm planetside? That much is rare enough and having to look up at grey skies the whole time is the biggest killjoy." Eames sighed, drawing back reluctantly into his own seat. "Looks like even the weather is set on getting us back to bed," he grinned this time, taking the transport out of park again.

Arthur felt a thrill under his skin and he grinned back. "I'm not one to argue with nature," he said, certain that at some point, when this wasn't so new, they'd be able to keep their hands to themselves, but until then... and Arthur had found he liked curling up with him, even without the sex, Eames was just good in bed.

"But, ah, we should probably put everything that belongs in the freezer where it belongs," Eames stated.

"And we still have to bring the transport back," Arthur added, though that could wait until later. And if the rain kept up, Pan would probably end up canceling his date anyway.

"And not forget the umbrella," Eames supplied.

Arthur added that too, they'd bring it in with the rest of the groceries. At least it wasn't raining too hard, more than a drizzle, but much less than what Eames had wandered out into, something that still had him feeling guilty. "I could drive it back while you take care of the groceries," he said. It might speed things up a little and he wouldn't endanger whatever system Eames had in the fridge.

"It would probably be the most productive way of going about things," Eames allowed. "And here we are," he said as they turned to drive down the dock Rook was parked at, pausing only to open the cargo bay ramp and drive Rook inside.

Since they weren't taking the transport later, Arthur left the umbrella inside, though he did move it to the passenger seat as he helped get the bags out of the back. "Won't be long," he called before he shut the driver's side door and eased down the ramp.

"You'd better not be," Eames warned playfully, already carrying the half defrosted things up the stairs.

Arthur had no problems getting the transport back and parked neatly inside _Lady of the Night_ , but he did get stuck chatting with Pan, bemoaning the weather and asking indirectly if Arthur would be willing to play chauffeur for the evening. Something he was all to happy to decline in retaliation for the moratorium Pan had imposed on he and Eames back at the hotel. Pan swiftly gave up and starting hoping for the rain to let up as he let Arthur out. The umbrella helped, but there was no way to prevent getting wet, nor the mud, as he made the short walk back and he was out of his shoes the moment he set the umbrella down and closed Rook. The rain steadily picked up outside. He frowned at the hem of his pants as he made his way upstairs and decided if they were rained in like this, he could get away with just changing into loungewear. A part of him was still hoping clothes wouldn't be necessary in the near future anyway.

"It only took you half an hour," Eames complained from the control room without sticking his head out. "The soup's simmering in the kitchen, if you want to get started on setting the table."

"Let me change first," Arthur said and detoured for their bedroom, swapping his wet and dirtied clothes for fresh ones. He dropped the others in the washing machine and finally headed back to the kitchen, calling out to Eames as he worked on the table.

"Change? What for? We've already had this conversation, haven't we?" Eames asked, appearing in the doorway and then heading into their bedroom with a handful of books he was working on putting away.

"My clothes were wet, what do you want me to do, walk around naked for the rest of the day?" Arthur asked, ladling out the bowls of soup now that there are spoon and napkins and glasses of water waiting on the table.

"Maybe," Eames called before finally wandering into the kitchen, hands empty this time. "Not like you aren't going to be soon anyway," he said smugly, taking the pot from Arthur to put it back on the stove and finally take a seat.

"I don't know what I expected," Arthur said to criticize himself, and then started to eat his soup. Which he wasn't going to eat sans clothing, because that was inviting trouble. Of course, if he'd stepped out naked, he liked to think Eames wouldn't have given him a chance to reach the table. At least not until after a good thirty minutes.

Eames shrugged but grinned, eating his soup with a self satisfied air. "We have all the time in the world."

"So we do," Arthur agreed, "and I hope this is one of the times you know what to do with me," he added, teasing Eames lightly, because he really didn't want to discourage Eames from saying things like that.

"Oh, do I," Eames smirked from behind his bowl and took another sip.

Arthur had to consciously slow his pace to match Eames', he wasn't going to sit and wait for Eames to finish his soup; he didn't want to look that eager. "And what are your plans?" he challenged. They should talk. Oh, but Arthur wanted to see what Eames would get up to on his own, without prompting or hints. If he wanted to do this, he needed more research and a good moment to bring it up. But research came first.

"Do you want to spoil the surprise?" Eames asked slyly.

"I'm calling your bluff," Arthur asserted. "I don't think you have a plan." He grinned as he finished the last of his soup, but tried to feign sipping on it.

"Well I did a little bit of research after last night... And I think you're just pretending to eat your soup," Eames winked, but put his own empty bowl down on the table. "And," he added gravely and standing, "I think the dishes can wait." A grin and he motioned Arthur to follow.

Research? It looked like they were both taking the circular way to arrive at the same point. But did Eames really take the time to scour the Cortex for answers to the hints Arthur had been dropping? Arthur grinned into the empty soup bowl. It was... touching. Sweet. Absolutely exciting. So he had no choice but to leave the soup bowl and follow, watching Eames curiously for the moment.

Eames shut the door after Arthur entered and caught his wrist before he got to the bed, then spun them around, his free hand going behind Arthur's head.

"Wha-" was all he managed before Eames pressed him against the hard surface of the door, and Arthur couldn't help surrendering his mouth to Eames so easily.  He brought his hands to Eames' hips and tried to walk him towards the bed.

Eames hummed in the negative without breaking contact, taking Arthur's hands off his hips to pin them to the door, first with both hands, then just the one, above his head.

Arthur let out a soft growl, shifting as heat started to pool downwards. He tested the hold, tugging his arms in a few directions to find where Eames' hold was weakest, but there was no desperation to it. Arthur knew without a doubt, that the second he told Eames to let go, he would. That if he seemed distressed Eames would stop, but Arthur was so far from distressed, so fucking far from it.

A hand made its way under Arthur's tshirt and the hold on his wrists loosened slightly as if Eames was just a little worried after all. That was the only way it showed and his other hand took its time exploring, rubbing and stroking down Arthur's chest, playing with his nipples under the soft cotton. When he did break for breath, his mouth immediately moved to Arthur's jaw, nipping down the smooth skin.

Arthur closed his eyes and whined when Eames pulled away, turning his head to follow and mouth at what he could reach of him still. He shifted, taking Eames' leg between his own and rocking against it with what little space Eames had given him.

Eames grinned into Arthur's skin before pushing his knee up even further up, occupying himself with suckling the soft skin between ear and jaw. His hand migrated lower, brushing past the waistband of Arthur's pants to take him gently in hand, the grip on his wrists tightening at the same time.

"Ah," Arthur gasped sharply, oh, fuck, Eames was trying to kill him, jesus fuck. And Arthur was helping him, grinding against him and bucking into his hand. "Eames, oh, fuck, Eames," he panted.

Eames only moved on to thoroughly exploring Arthur's neck, slowly stroking simultaneously for some time, knowing exactly how obnoxious and teasing he was being with the way smugness was radiating off of him. In a moment, however, he had to loosen his own pants, in the process pulling on the waistband of Arthur's.

Arthur panted and moaned as he tried to press closer and twist away at the same time. He took a moment to catch his breath as Eames undid his pants. "If you... keep," he let out a breath, "doing this, I'm... not gonna last," he warned.

"Darling," Eames breathed, relaxing his hold and looking like he was going to ask or say something more but then reconsidered, opting to drop his pants and hoist one of Arthur's thighs to his waist.

Arthur let his arms go slack as Eames let him go, holding them over his head was growing uncomfortable, and he let Eames move him as he pleased. He leaned forward, mouthing at Eames' jaw softly.

Eames bit at Arthur's earlobe, letting go of him to uncap the bottle that had somehow appeared in his hands. Arthur seized the opportunity to touch, before pushing his own waistband down the last bit and allowing gravity and the slippery material to do the rest, so thankful he'd thought ahead and didn't bother to put on boxers. His hands were back on Eames, running down his neck to the beginnings of his spine as he held him close.

Another moan and Eames sighed in Arthur's arms, hooking his hands under his hips. Then he caught Arthur's lips again, panting into Arthur's mouth, pressing both of them hard against the door once more and lifted.

Oh. _Oh_. Eames was planning on fucking him against the gorram door; Arthur latched on, trying to support as much of his own weight as possible, gasping and just as swiftly returning to kissing. He held tighter, gripping Eames across his shoulders and grinding slowly against him.

Eames hooked Arthur's knees around his waist, pushing forward and up; carefully aligning himself before pushing in. "Arthur," he sighed between them, then bit into Arthur's shoulder, clenching his fingers around Arthur's thighs, even as he squirmed.

God it was- fuck, Arthur pressed his head into Eames' shoulder, fingers scrambling to find a grip in Eames' hair. Fuck. There was barely anything he could do but take it, trying to make use of what little friction there was between his back and the wall while Eames thrust into him and _fuck_.

Arthur spiraled with a groan, spilling moments after Eames did and was in serious danger of falling as his muscles went limp. He held on to Eames as he started to slide down, unable to support his weight any longer. Eames locked his hands under his hips, taking his weight. "Good plan," Arthur said breathlessly and pressed a thoroughly exhausted kiss to Eames' cheek.

Eames grinned and took several steps backward to the bed, sitting then sliding down, letting Arthur fall on top of him. "I'm glad you approve," he murmured back, running his hands up Arthur's back. "Had that idea since the very first day. On Black Rock."

Arthur smiled at the memory, as he pushed himself up long enough to get rid of his dirtied shirt, then he settled back down on top of Eames. "Next time you have an idea like that, don't wait so long," he complained, good naturedly. It wasn't like he was willing to take back any of their other activities. "Christ, you're good at sex," he blurted, his filter not yet back in working order.

Eames laughed, sighing happily when he finally stopped, pressing another kiss to Arthur's lips. "Well at least that's something. So maybe you will be hard pressed to find a replacement for me there." A sigh and he squirmed out of his own shirt as much as he could without displacing Arthur from on top of him. "What else do you want to do then?," he asked, dropping his head back down on the bed. "Later of course. But really."

"Mmm," Arthur hummed thoughtfully, "I still need to check  the pad to see how those IdentCards are doing," he said. It probably wouldn't be much fun for Eames, but Arthur didn't want to put it off for too long. "Those dishes still need to get done," he added.

"Oh, no," Eames groaned. "No," he repeated, cinching his arms around Arthur's waist. "I won't even think of it."

"Oh, you meant what I wanted to do with _you_?" Arthur teased, laughing. "What happened to not ruining the surprise?"

"Well, of course I do - and that wouldn't ruin the surprise, you wouldn't know what order it would be in. That and you mentioned IdentCards and dishes and if the combination isn't boner kill I don't know what is," Eames groused insincerely, petting Arthur's spine.

"And now you won't even let me change the subject back," Arthur said, matching Eames' insincerity in his complaint. He dropped a kiss to the corner of Eames' mouth, utterly content.

"Alright, alright, tell me, love, what depraved things would you like done to you in the future?" Eames sighed dramatically, to add flair to the already theatrical phrase, right before stealing Arthur's mouth without letting him answer.

Arthur gave the kiss priority, moving his lips gently against Eames' and licking at his bottom lip. He loved this, this aimless affection. Eames' hand running up his spine, and all of this skin within reach. "When you ask it like that..." He teased before nosing in at Eames' neck.

"Then what?" he asked smiling. "My neck becomes far more attractive than talking, hmm? Are you shy about it, is that what this is?" he teased, turning his head to nibble at Arthur's ear.

"I'm not _shy_ about it," Arthur argued into Eames' neck, "I just... don't know that you'd be interested." So. Yes. A little shy about it and worried it wouldn't be well received. Or that Eames would do everything Arthur asked, but not because he _wanted_ to do them. Arthur didn't want him to feel like he had to do anything either. Then again, Eames had went ahead and done research...

"So shy about it. Well, I took a risk today, didn't I? Albeit a calculated one, given yesterday."

That was different. Somehow. Maybe not. Arthur relented, but still hesitated as he made his suggestion. "I want you to fuck me after I come," he admitted, starting with that simple thing, "don't wait for me to recover, just--" and he stopped, waiting for a reaction from Eames.

"Really?" Eames raised his eyebrows before smiling and hiking up a knee between Arthur's. "I would have thought it'd be unpleasant for you."

Arthur relaxed instantly. "Not if you use enough lube," he explained, his skittishness fading fast at the fact this was something that could happen. Eames may have been willing to do this at some point. "Is there something you want to try?" Something Eames wanted him to do, or do to him.

"Hmm..." Eames considered it for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "What would you say if I tied your wrists? Your hands are far too distracting if I'm to last any time after you and I need my own."

That went straight through him and he made a strangled noise before he managed to get his thoughts in order. He didn't have a problem with Eames restraining him, far from it, but Arthur wasn't so sure Eames understood how that would affect him, especially if he fucked him that way too. "That might, I mean, we may need to talk about domination and submission," he warned. He couldn't let Eames do _that_ to him, no matter how intensely satisfying it seemed, without explaining a few things. "I'm not sure I could keep myself together," he admitted. "Yesterday..."

"I have offered to talk about it," Eames raised his eyebrows, smiling at the same time at Arthur's reaction. "And you've tried guiding me without words - neither that nor the Cortex is enough. I want to know." Eames smiled, brushing his knuckle along Arthur's jaw. "If I'm going to be good at sex," he said before grinning, "I'm going to have to keep up on my studies and theories, won't I?"

Arthur nipped him lightly for the jibe, but there were worse things than Eames knowing Arthur thought he was good at sex. "Why don't we start with what it isn't, to me," he clarified, because different people wanted different things, and Arthur didn't see the need to fill Eames in on what other people might want. "I don't want you to think it extends outside the session, or 'scene'. And if I use my safeword, it stops. Or if you do, it stops. And... it's not about pain, it's about knowing you're in control. And knowing I'm... pleasing you." The approval was important, but when Eames had done it both yesterday and back on Black Rock, when his focus had been on touching him, and lavishing him... "Don't assume that means you have to top, if you tell me to fuck you, I will. Gladly. It's really up to you how much instruction you give me," but in the past too many orders just became annoying and patronizing. Arthur didn't know how it would be with Eames though. "and I'll let you know if it works for me or not."

He hesitated a moment, but went on. "Then there's something called aftercare, and it can be just as important. I might need something high in sugar to eat, and some water. And I need you to hold me before you let me go to sleep."

"Something sweet," Eames said, as if he was committing it to memory. Arthur hadn't asked for it the other night but he would have liked it. Two out of three wasn't bad but Arthur felt like if he didn't ask for it, he might not get it. "If you promise to tell me if I'm doing something wrong. And not even wrong but not exactly the way you like it, you have to tell me. Pleasing runs both ways in this house, mm, shiphold. So communication, darling, is what I mean."

"You've never had any trouble pleasing me," Arthur nearly purred, still feeling satisfied. "But I'll let you know if that changes. And safewords: I use 'red,' you don't want to pick something complicated, or difficult to say," Arthur explained, the reason was obvious, but there was always shitty literature that wanted to use something overly poetic and meaningful. It was just something to shout if things were too much, and having to shout a multisyllabic word just made the pain and panic last that much longer. "So if it ever gets overwhelming for you or you want to try subbing..."

"Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is out?" Eames laughed, then considered it. "I think red will do fine."

"All right. Just remember it and don't worry about what I will think if you need to use it. Everything must cease immediately when it's used. That's it."

"Is there anything I shouldn't even ask about for you?" Eames asked.

"I'm not into name-calling," he said, but other than that there was nothing off the top of his head. And Eames could probably have guessed that calling him a slut wasn't something he found appealing.

"I could have guessed that," Eames sighed, running a hand along Arthur's cheek again, still repenting for the slip up he'd made. "Nothing but my sweet baby darling, you are," he grinned, brushing his thumb against Arthur's bottom lip. "Promise."

"'Sweet baby darling'?" Arthur repeated and let his disgust show. "I think I threw up in my mouth," he exaggerated as he pulled away.

Eames laughed, the sound turning to giggles as he tried to stifle it and speak, unable to for another minute still, careful not to knee Arthur as he curled up slightly in his laughter. "Oh, the look on your face was priceless. I'm kidding, but oh am I tempted to call you that just so you can make that face."

"Asshole," Arthur said and pinched Eames' nipple in retaliation. Not too hard, but enough to sting a little. "Don't you fucking dare."

Eames gave an aborted gasp in between his laughter, cinching his hands on Arthur's waist anyway. "Uhoh, did you just use the word dare? That's the wrong word to use," he singsonged.

"I will hurt you," Arthur warned. At least not lasting harm. Probably no worse than that pinch if he were going to be honest with himself.

Another laugh and Eames pushed himself up to steal a kiss, still smiling. "Alright, alright, I'll refrain," he conceded.

Arthur sank into the kiss happily, and then went for Eames neck as he promised not to call him that string of endearments. "Good," he said and tried to apply some positive reinforcement by continuing to kiss him.

Unfortunately, it didn't last and the ships alarm system declared a visitor. Within seconds they were both up, Arthur getting dressed and Eames heading to check the cameras without even bothering to put on pants. Arthur had time to tug on a shirt before following, expecting Eames to answer. Instead he found Eames staring thoughtfully at the screen.

"Who is that? He looks awfully familiar and more like your sort of crowd. I don't think I've ever seen designer clothes that expensive on anyone to this side of the Halo."

Arthur frowned at the dig until he caught sight of the viewscreen. "Saito," he said, stunned for a moment. "He owns Proclus, one of the few companies that hasn't gone bankrupt or merged with Fischer's. What is he doing on Sturges?"

"I dunno but are we letting him in? Maybe he'll throw money at the door and it will open by itself."

"It might. Saito makes me look poor. And you're making him wait."

Eames flipped open the small intercom. "Can I help you, Mr. Saito?"

"Mr. Charles, I presume?" Arthur assumed that was the name Eames had landed under. "I have a job for a thief and a dead man. Do you know any?"

Arthur and Eames exchanged looks. "What's in it for them?"

"Revenge. A revamped ship. A clean slate. I have many connections that are willing to negotiate a retraction of warrants and bring the dead back to life with all their property in tact. I can prove it." Saito opened his briefcase, taking out an expensive looking pad wrapped in a plastic bag labelled evidence. "I am looking for the man who has gotten farthest in the investigation against Fischer-Morrow. This is his. I am willing to part with it but only with the agreement that you will help me acquire evidence against my competitor." He snapped the case shut again.

Eames looked at Arthur. Arthur looked at Eames.

This job could very well get them both killed, Arthur would argue.

But it would be worth it, Eames would say.

They'd need to be cautious.

But they could take a chance.

"Gentlemen? What do you say?"

It looked like they would be visiting Ariel after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


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